A Distant Dawn
by Blazing Firefox
Summary: The story of an everyday mercenary who becomes a hero awakens ugly appetite and ambition in many, and at it's center is a conflict a millennium in the making. A Hero rises while another returns, but can peace finally be found?
1. Under Grey Skies

Here we are with my attempt at a novelization of Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn. There will be several changes from the game itself that you'll notice, least of which will be the focus on romance, which will be an ever escalating factor as we go along. Some pairings I have set in stone (not that I'll mention any of them), but I'd be glad to hear what you guys think pairings should be. Any and all pairings are welcomed as suggestions, and some will likely help me shape the scale of importance for characters (because giving over seventy characters high placed roles will be a difficult matter, to say the least). Yaoi and Yuri pairings are accepted as well but they – not to say this is a rule exclusive to them – will only be considered if the pairing itself is reasonable (such as IkexSoren, although you'd need a damn good testimony to have me go with that one as I am heavily inclined not to). I will be far more lenient with straight pairings and will possibly even accept the occasional crack pairing, but I am going to be more strict with the Yaoi and Yuri ones, mainly because I'm not confident with my ability to write them.

The only other pairing I'm adverse to doing – adverse is an understatement, because I will say with 99 certainty now that it won't happen – is SothexMicaiah. It's far too canon – like EliwoodxNinian, except that pairing is interesting just because of the difficulties lying beneath it. With SothexMicaiah, there's no development because it's there to begin with. And so, no, it will not be happening. Sorry if that deters some people, but I draw my lines somewhere.

This is also my first attempt at posting a Fire Emblem fanfic, although I have written several pieces with much the same style in mind. I'm hoping this isn't painfully awful, but I make no promises. Any pointers on what can be improved on as I go along would be welcomed with open arms.

Lastly, I will point out that much of my ability to write this came from DarkenedSakura's Game Script FAQ on GameFAQs. So I owe much thanks to that FAQ.

With my author comments out of the way, I'll get you settled in with the first chapter.

* * *

_In northeastern Tellius there lay a country in ruin._

_Three years have passed since the Crimean Liberation Army cut a bloody swath through Daein and won the Mad King's War. Crimea surrendered control of their neighbouring nation to their benefactor, the Begnion Empire, and began the reconstruction of their homeland. The brave leader of the Crimean Liberation Army, General Ike and his allies, the Greil Mercenaries, remained in their home of Crimea, careless of their enemy's plight._

_Begnion ruled over Daein with an iron hand. They absorbed what little Daein had to offer, leaving it's people to suffer in poverty and famine. Hope slowly drained from the people over the three years of Begnion's occupation, to the point that only select few dare oppose their sovereign empire. Resistance forces banded together in attempts to restore their country's freedom, but all attempts were squashed by the Begnion Occupational Forces._

_But a light shines bright still in the war torn nation._

* * *

The night sky was illuminated by the full moon, lonesome in the sky without a single star alongside it. It was a sight to behold that many would gaze up at for hours that night. Unfortunately, there were many who were deprived of the opportunity to do such a thing that night. People who suffered beneath one form of oppression or another; a common thing on the continent of Tellius.

One such example was in the former Daein capital of Nevassa. Hard boots thudded against the stone ground as Begnion soldiers ran to and fro, their red armor accentuated by the light the torches they carried gave off. Eyes looked from side to side constantly, searching every nook and cranny – and there were many – of the streets. The search proved itself to be a fruitless one, however, even with the soldiers all split up, searching the area thoroughly.

One nook in particular hadn't been searched thoroughly enough, it would seem. A silver haired girl of no more than seventeen or eighteen – and even that was a stretch – sat therein, a light tome clutched tightly to her chest with one hand and a small red bird perched on the fore finger of her other hand. She made not a sound out of fear that the persistent Begnion soldiers would find her, moving only when it became a necessity.

Two soldiers paced along the road just beyond this nook, eyes scanning to and fro, torches waving in tandem with their eyes. "You find anything?" the first of the two asked as he passed by the second, pausing only briefly after speaking before continuing on his way.

As the two crossed paths the second came to a stop, saying, "Not yet, Neva sir. She's still eluding us."

"She's just a kid!" Neva hissed, glaring at his subordinate. The other cowered under the gaze, taking a step back fearfully. "Keep looking."

"Yes sir," he sighed dejectedly, and both turned off down another path, continuing their search. As soon as she was reasonably sure they were out of ear shot, the silver haired girl crawled over, pressing herself tightly against the wall near where it had been damaged in the past, her breath coming out in shallow sighs. She glanced out the small opening carefully, eyes scanning what she could see without revealing herself. Her bird remained perched on her hand, looking about without a care in the world. It flapped it's small wings tentatively before leaning forward, nipping at the girl's finger.

"A-ah! Yune," the girl gasped, a little louder than intended. She quickly put a hand to her mouth fearfully, glancing out the opening again. Light radiated from further down the road and the thudding of boots returned, and soon the glimmering red armor was seen once again. She ducked away as quickly as he could, sucking in and holding her breath as best she could.

"Neva, sir, there's nothing here," a voice said harshly. The girl removed the hand from her mouth, fingering over the light tome she'd been holding carefully, fearful that she may need it.

"I know I heard something! The Dawn Brigade has to be here!" Neva snapped. The silver haired girl gasped slightly under her breath, though it went unheard to Neva. Yune opened it's mouth to make a noise, and the girl quickly hushed it by attempting to hold it's mouth shut between her fore and middle fingers, looking pleadingly down at the bird. Her unsaid prayers were ignored however as Yune tweeted delicately, looking up at the girl with a look of pure adoration. "Is something there?" Neva asked, looking pointedly toward the opening in the wall.

The soldier walked over to investiage, backing up immediately as Yune flew out from the hole, tweeting happily. He continued over to the hole, glancing in briefly before pulling away, looking over his shoulder with a knowing look in his eyes, "... No, it was just a bird."

The girl sighed with relief as the two nodded to each other and took off in opposite directions, light slowly fading from the area until darkness was all that remained. She was faintly aware of light nearby, but didn't make the connection until it was much too late. Her arm was grabbed roughly, her squeal of surprise drowned out by the cackling laughter her captor offered. In her surprise she dropped her tome, leaving her completely defenseless.

"Ha! You thought we didn't see you? Neva, what should we do with her?" the soldier cackled, looking over his shoulder as a group of soldiers came into view, all carrying torches.

"Silver hair..." Neva breathed, pleased with their catch. "The fortune teller, then. The Dawn Brigade is nothing without her."

The soldier tensed, "Do we hand her off to the general then?"

"Oh yeah, he'll love this. Bind her."

The girl's arm was twisted behind her back, her cry of pain muffled by a rough hand over her mouth. Her other arm joined it, and soon after came the painful sensation of rope being pressed against her wrist's. She tossed about and squirmed in vain, biting back cries. A hard fist connected with the back of her head, and she fell forward slightly as her vision began to spin before her, "Stop struggling, wench. It'll be much easier if you listen."

A chirp followed soon after, and the girl looked up with a small smile at Yune, circling overhead twice before taking off higher, away from the conflict. A strangled cry followed soon after and one of the soldiers collapsed to the ground in a bloody heap. The girl was forgotten as the soldiers turned toward their fallen comrade, and the rope fell harmlessly to the ground as she dove for her light tome in the confusion brought on.

"Sh-she's not alone!" Neva cried, bringing his lance to the ready. His subordinates followed suit, all aimed at the newcomer. With short but pointed green hair that fell over his forehead, accompanied by a scowl highly characteristic of his adult features, he brought immediate worry into the hearts of the Begnion soldiers before him.

Just as quickly as he had appeared he disappeared again, knocking out several soldiers with well aimed kicks to either their unprotected legs or their equally unprotected faces, flipping about gracefully whenever they tried to strike at him. The girl joined him and they stood back to back, the soldiers coming around them, poised to strike again.

"Micaiah," the man nodded in the girl's direction, gripping at the knife held firmly in his right hand. He spun it around briefly, catching it firmly and glaring at the soldiers again. Several gulped at the sight.

"Sothe... I..." Micaiah tried, clutching almost fearfully to her tome. No real fear overcame her, but she was slightly nervous. And, though he'd never show it, Micaiah knew Sothe was as well. It was one of the things she just knew. Such was the bond they shared, each as a brother or a sister to the other, if not closer.

"We've got you now!" Neva yelled angrily, lance at the ready. Inch by inch the soldiers moved closer, until in one swift motion both Sothe and Micaiah attacked. Micaiah opened her tome and began muttering a chant, holding her light tome close to her chest as she did so. Sothe meanwhile took to watching and protecting her carefully, hitting at enemies that got too close. When the chanting was finished and Micaiah had struck her arm out, a bright light shone out, momentarily blinding the soldiers.

Sothe grabbed Micaiah's hand, pulling her through as the soldiers rubbed furiously at their eyes, muttering curses. They were careful to avoid any streets where other Begnion soldiers would be patrolling, and it wasn't long before they'd escaped their peril. Yune followed them the entire way, serving as an unorthadox set of eyes for them, giving them the aid they needed in their escape.

Tonight, there would not be an opportunity for them to enjoy the moonlight.

* * *

Caws, tweets and the occasional cluck marked the beginning of a new day in the Crimean countryside, and it took every bit of the blue haired mercenary's willpower to resist the urge to ignore it all and roll over again into a peaceful slumber. In his father's wake, Ike had been made the immediate head of the Greil Mercenaries, and although he'd come to carry the position with ease and had the respect of his allies, there was one part he never liked: the demand that came with being the leader.

That is, being forced to get up early.

He stifled a yawn as he climbed to his feet, stretching and blinking his eyes furiously to rid his body of sleep. That done he immediately grabbed a blue sleeveless undershirt that was lying on the back of a chair nearby, pulling it over his head. Next came his equally sleeveless black vest with a collar extending nearly to his chin. And then came a brown breastplate that also acted as a shoulder guard, complete with several leather straps which were placed across it and tied to keep it secure on his chest. He skipped his red cape and green cloth-like ribbon, finding the weather of early summer to be much too hot for such accessories. Last was his blue shoulder guard; no matter how peaceful and how hot the day may be, there were limits to how lenient he would be in his attempts to protect himself.

Satisfied with his look and opting against changing out of the white pants he'd slept in, he threw on his dark brown boots and blue shin guards and left his room, closing the door softly behind him. His first stop was the mess hall, where his sister Mist and close friend Boyd were already awake and eating, sitting far closer to each other than Ike could recall having seen before. He shrugged it off with a knowing smile, gathering his own food in the form of a single small loaf of bread and a baked – well baked, with their excellent cook Oscar – potato, seating across from them. Neither gave more than a nod in greeting to him, but Ike kept his eyes firmly on them as he ate – well hidden by misplaced strands of blue hair, of course.

"Good morning, Ike," Oscar greeted calmly as he returned to the mess hall, carrying a pile of various cooking ingredients in his arms. Ike nodded in reply, smiling up at his green haired knight before returning to his food. He poked at it more than he actually ate it, still trying to fend off the bored feeling that always consumed him once sleepiness wore off. It was a byproduct of lack of work, but it couldn't be helped. When he thought about it he had only himself to blame for bringing ridding Crimea of strife and chaos, thus removing nearly any need for the Greil Mercenaries. There was the occasional bandit group trying their best to make a living in the Crimean countryside, but Geoffrey and the Royal Knights were surprisingly effective when it came to bandit extermination, and instances that the Greil Mercenaries were called upon for were growing fewer and farther between.

Not that he regretted a course of action such as the one they had taken three years ago, of course. Beyond the fact that it was a contract with Princess – although now she was Queen - Elincia, he and the rest of the Greil Mercenaries had a genuine desire to see their country restored, and so Ike was glad for that. If such a desire left them without work, he was okay with that. For the most part, anyway. The half a year since the Greil Mercenaries had left the Crimean Royal Court had been a boring six months, however, and the odd job here and there didn't help the yearning for a good fight that many of the mercenaries had.

It wasn't long before Soren joined them as well, grabbing a loaf of bread and seating himself next to Ike. "Ike," Soren acknowledged in his usual stoic tone, nodding. Ike, with a mouthful of bread, nodded in response before trying to force the rest down his throat followed by a glass of water to wash it down. He coughed loudly after it had gone down, bending forward over the table momentarily. Soren instinctively reached over, patting hard at Ike's back until Ike waved a dismissive hand.

"Any new requests?" Ike asked, turning away from his food to look at Soren. The raven haired tactician had been given the job of overseeing funding and requests following the reformation of the Greil Mercenaries. People had protested and said that Titania deserved to keep the job, but Ike's sound judgment of people shone through soon enough, and everyone soon came to realize the merits in their young tactician carrying such a role.

"Just more requests to return to the Royal Court," Soren replied with a shrug, looking at Ike out of the corner of his eye while he ate, searching for a reaction. When he saw no change in Ike's face, he continued, "All of them have been coming from Duke Felirae. That being the case, I don't think Crimea will be safe for long."

"You think he's planning a rebellion?" Ike asked, genuinely shocked and equally disappointed.

"And he wants the heroes of the Mad King's War on his side," Mist concluded, pouting childishly. "What do you think we should do, Ike?"

"We're certainly not taking part in spreading civil war," Ike concluded immediately, pushing his plate away and standing up. "The real issue is, what --"

He was cut off by the loud sound of a horn reverberating through the entire fort. Everyone immediately dropped what they were doing and ran, not stopping – except for Ike to grab his sword from his room along the way – until they were out in the fort's courtyard. Ike headed up the group of mercenaries as they settled in with weapons ready, poised to attack the platoon of Crimean soldiers across from them that didn't seem to want to do more talking than necessary.

"General Ike!" a man dressed in thick, white armor with golden trimmings walked forth, removing his helmet to reveal dark blue locks. "I am an messenger from Duke Felirae. May we have a moment of your time?"

Ike's grip on his sword tightened, "If it is in regards to your request for us to return to the Royal Court, we've already answered you." the man's expression soured at this, but it was only for a split second before a wicked smirk replaced it.

"My Lord is willing to offer you anything you like in exchange for your services. If it is money you want, we will give it to you. If it is being mercenaries, you may be employed into the Royal Court and so keep your mercenary status. Duke Felirae is not picky about how Her Majesty receives your services."

"I doubt it is Her Majesty he wants us to serve," Ike responded, skepticism seeping through every breath he took thereafter. "Sir --"

"Yeardley," the man finished.

"Sir Yeardley, I know not what your Duke wants with Crimea, but I know it is not in the better interest of Queen Elincia's rule. Regardless, the Greil Mercenaries make a strict policy of not getting into the world of nobles and politics. Show yourself out," Ike narrowed his eyes for good measure, hoping they would get the idea and take their leave.

Certainly he knew better, though.

Yeardley cackled loudly, grinning so widely that several breaths – friend and foe alike – hitched in their throats, "The Duke was right, they won't offer their aid kindly. Alright men, get them! Take them alive!"

Ike scowled, "I had a feeling it would come to this." He turned to those around him, "Five to one odds haven't kept us down before. Let's show them the strength of the Greil Mercenaries!"

Yeardley and his men barely had their hands on their weapons before the mercenaries were upon them, Ike and Boyd working in unison to attack and protect one another as they fought while Soren watched both of their backs with various tomes, continually changing which he used; Rolf and Shinon stood back, firing upon any they had a clear shot at; Oscar and Titania rode straight through them, swinging from side to side as they went, and Mia stuck with Gatrie, using him as a human shield to contrast her comparably low protection. Mist and Rhys stuck close to Rolf and Shinon, not at all confident in the wisdom of rushing out to assist. Not that their friends particularly needed any healing magic at that moment.

"What are you doing?!" Yeardley barked to everyone around him as he brought his lance to a ready position, swinging it at the perfect moment so it caught Oscar's, forcing the green armored knight from his steed. "We have them vastly outnumbered! Slaughter them!" Unfortunately for him, Oscar was no less skilled on foot than on his steed, and before Yeardley could even ready himself again, he had a lance pierced through a small opening between the main body of his thick suit of armor and the arm. "Y-you... you could have killed me," he gasped, realizing the pain – and the blood loss – was minimal. Oscar hadn't done nearly as much damage as he could have. "Why?"

Oscar nodded his head toward the battle waging on around them, and Yeardley's eyes followed. He noticed with great shock that very few of his men were actually dead. Although they'd been eliminated in exceptionally short time – given the numbers disadvantage to the mercenaries – many suffered only from relatively minor wounds, although almost all of them were unconscious. "We will not attack our country of Crimea, but we will not assist it in it's work as well. Gather your men and take your leave," Ike said, his large sword resting on his shoulder as he walked over.

"You'll regret not killing me..." Yeardley spat, slowly regaining his confidence as he tightened his grip on his lance. He swiftly turned and thrusted at Ike, who quickly twirled around the lance's thrust, bringing his sword to a point at Yeardley's unprotected throat. "Duke Felirae has nothing but the best of intentions for Crimea... you are all traitors to your Queen..."

"I have no intention of being punished for self-defence," Ike pressed his sword forward a little more, receiving a sharp intake of breath from Yeardley as he tried to keep his nerves under control. "Now return to Duke Felirae and tell him we have no desire to involve ourselves in the business of nobility."

Yeardley spat at the ground around his feet, mumbling something incoherent under his breath before turning around. Those who could still move got up as well, loading their unconscious allies onto the horses they'd come on. "The Greil Mercenaries will be charged with being rebels to the nation of Crimea. You'll have nowhere to run," he hissed as he walked away, shaking his head dejectedly.

Ike knew immediately just how right he was.

* * *

Micaiah sat at a small round table in the local bar, head cradled is her arms as she tried to tune out the never-ending torrent of words streaming from her friend's mouth. A boy sat across from her, no more than a year older than her in appearance, with obsidian black eyes that betrayed his otherwise childish appearance; namely, his wild brown hair and that seemingly permanent smile on his face.

A smile that remained in place even as he talked about the possibility of one of his friends being dead.

"Something must have happened to him, Micaiah," he ranted on. "He's never late. What if the Occupation Army killed him? What if they found out he was with the Silver Haired Maiden, and took him in for questioning?! What if --"

"-- Don't worry, Edward. Leonardo is fine," Micaiah cut him off, her voice screaming irritation. Edward's smile flickered for the briefest moment before he nodded, his unfounded worries put to rest. Micaiah sighed happily as he stopped ranting, slumping back in her seat. She reached for the water-filled canteen in front of her, taking back a large sip of the soothing liquid before placing the canteen back on the table, relishing in the wonders the cool drink did to her dry throat.

"Hey, hey! I have an idea!" Edward waved his arms around frantically, "How about you use your farsight to find out where he is?" he grinned sheepishly, folding his arms on the table.

"Edward, you know that's not how it works..." she rubbed at the bridge of her nose, sighing delicately. "I can foresee some things, but I don't get to choose what I see..."

Edward held his hands up in defence, "I know, I know. I was just teasing," he smiled disarmingly, and Micaiah shook her head pitifully as her irritation subsided. "Even so, Leonardo's never late. Something must have happened. Should we --"

"--Help, someone! Please!" the doors swung open and a lady ran in with a little boy in tow, both breathing heavily, sweat trickling down their necks. "Run! Bandits are attacking! Who knows what will happen if they catch you!" she shouted throughout the entire bar. Immediately people were on their feet and running, going whichever way they could to escape the confusion and terror quickly spreading. Micaiah and Edward got up a moment later, wisely avoiding the throng of terrified civilians.

"Where's the Begnion Occupation Army at this time? How are they going to keep the peace if they're nowhere to be found when they're actually needed?!" Micaiah sighed heavily, shaking her head as she stepped up next to the woman. She looked down at the considerably shorter Micaiah with a gentle frown; soothing, caring.

"They're only interested in hunting the Dawn Brigade. If you're not a member of the Dawn Brigade, you have nearly free licence to terrorize the people," the woman responded, her eyes narrowing as she spoke. It was a sensitive topic for many a Daein citizen, Micaiah knew, and rage wasn't an uncommon thing for her to see when she spoke with citizens.

She felt her own anger build up, and she had to fight to keep it at bay, "They're horrible! Just find somewhere to hide." She waved a hand toward the back of the bar, smiling, "Leave the bandits to us. We'll take care of them, okay?" she lowered herself to one knee, smiling at the little boy who had been hiding behind who Micaiah could now only assume was his mother.

"And don't worry about us," Edward added, grinning. "We happen to be members of that same Dawn Brigade! Just leave everything to us," he added a thumbs up for good measure.

The boy brightened up considerably upon hearing that, "Really?! You guys are in the Dawn Brigade? My friends and I talk about you all the time! That's awesome!"

"Hey!" the lady smacked the boy in the head, scowling down at him. Her eyes softened when she looked at Micaiah again, reaching a hand out to gently move a couple strands of silver hair from Micaiah's face, "Children are fighting? Oh, what has happened to our country of Daein, forcing children to fight and steal for the poor..." she sighed, pocketing her hand and shaking her head. "But we can't fight, so we'll take you up on your offer. But be careful; they won't think twice about slicing you in two."

"Thank you, and we will," Micaiah nodded to their now retreating figures before she left the bar with Edward close behind. Edward took the front as they rushed through the streets in search of the bandits – which were either nowhere to be found or far better at stealth than most would give them credit for. They finally came to a brief halt in a small alleyway, taking a moment to gather their bearings, "Where... are they?" Micaiah panted, placing her hands on her knees as she gasped for air.

"Micaiah," Edward nodded to the end of the alleyway where a bandit was now passing by, axe slung carelessly on his shoulder. Micaiah and Edward looked at each other and nodded, moving carefully toward the end of the alleyway. The bandit was near a small tree, eyes searching left and right for what Micaiah could only assume was more victims. Edward didn't give him a chance as he dashed out of the alleyway, and by the time the bandit was aware of Edward's presence he had a sword piercing his back, between the shoulder blades. Spewing blood for a moment, he muttered profanities under his breath as he collapsed to his knees and, a moment later, his stomach. Edward pulled his sword out of the man's back, cleaning it off with a cloth.

By the time he'd turned himself around another bandit was upon him, and Micaiah slipped in behind Edward as the two clashed – sword against axe. The sheer brute force the bandit possessed overpowered Edward quickly, sending his sword flying from his hand. As the axe swung a second time Edward rolled out of the way, grabbing his sword. When he reached his feet again the bandit wasn't facing him, instead facing the now defenceless Micaiah.

"Heh... a pretty girl like you 'll fetch me a pretty penny. Now," he stretched his free arm out in offering, smiling toothily. "Be a good girl and come to papa."

Micaiah frowned but said nothing, discreetly opening her tome and muttering a chant underneath her breath, inaudible to the bandit even in his close proximity. Before she could finish an arrow firmly lodged itself in the bandit's head, and he fell to the ground roughly, several bones snapping as he hit the ground. "Micaiah!" she tore her gaze from the dead bandit to look over toward a small house, in front of which was a blond man with a bow in hand, a quiver on his back filled with tightly packed arrows.

"Leonardo!" she greeted happily as he ran to them, his serious face an immediate contrast to the laid back appearance Edward took. His long blonde hair waved from side to side as he ran, a defining feature that few people Micaiah had met had. She smiled as he stopped next to them, asking, "How did you find us?"

"A little bird led the way," he pointed to the sky where Yune was circling overhead. "Your's, in fact," Edward chuckled at that.

"Sorry we ran ahead, Leonardo. But we couldn't leave these people! We --"

"-- I understand," Leonardo cut her off with a small smile, full of understanding. "We can't leave the people who believe in us to die. I'll help you fight."

"Thank you, Leonardo," Micaiah turned and, without further word, they continued on. The small marketplace was crawling with bandits when they reached it, and only by swiftly taking cover behind some barrels did they avoid immediate detection. Micaiah sighed with relief and hesitantly looked out into the marketplace; to her relief there weren't any civilians, but the amount of bandits had her worried. Turning back to Leonardo and Edward, she said, "Edward will go out with me providing support. Leonardo, stay here and provide cover fire. Make sure there's nobody nearby if you need to change vantage points."

They both nodded, and Edward – ever the eager one – rushed out almost immediately. He was spotted immediately, but the bandit's attempt at embedding an axe into the swordsman's chest was cut short by a bright light forming over him, dispelling into several tendrils that tore through him with agonizing intensity. With a pained cry he fell to his knees, where his head was removed by Edward.

An arrow to the head dispatched the bandit Micaiah saw running at them from the side. The rest of the bandits had taken up some form of order, guarding the entrance to a small alleyway – no doubt where their leader was, living in blissful ignorance with the many riches he'd secured from the already impoverished civilians. By the time she'd finished this, Edward was standing over another corpse, blood pouring from the bandit's arm where the sword had connected and an arrow lodged in his abdomen. Leonardo stood next to him, checking a barrel for supplies.

Micaiah rushed over to the two, opening her tome and hanging her head, "No matter the foe, the Goddess judges all evenly," she muttered in prayer to the bloodied corpse, wincing involuntarily as her eyes opened again. "Their leader should be somewhere around here. Come on," Edward walked past them and took the helm as they proceeded down the alleyway, eyes scanning from side to side. "Here," Micaiah stated firmly as they reached a bend in the alleyway.

Axe and sword clashed suddenly as Edward turned the corner. He was dressed comparatively well, with a red breastplate covering his upper body and iron shoulderguards. Spikey blonde hair stuck out from a red headband, and his axe – which was considerably better than the rusted one Micaiah had been seeing – glistened with every swing, Edwards knees threatened to buckle under the pressure, and despite the difference in speed with their swings Edward found himself unable to find an opening.

"Wh-what is this guy...!" Edward gasped out, his hold on his sword tightening as it threatened to be torn from his grasp. His arms ached terribly, and every breath came out as a desperate pant rather than a normal intake of air.

"I am the great Pugo, of the Silver Star Bandits! We, unlike you Dawn Brigade fools, are honest thieves!" the man cried, pulling back for a definitive swing. Edward narrowly managed to dodge by way of sidestepping, around the axe, followed by a slash that left Pugo without his right hand. Pugo's cry of pain was cut short by Edward's sword being pointed to his throat, holding him firmly in place.

"Honest?" Micaiah asked, walking up. "You are honest? These people work hard to get what little they have and then people like you come along and take it away! Many are fed mere scraps, and you take even that! You are undeserving of the Goddess' forgiveness."

"Shut up! We work hard too! You have your ways, and we have our's! We're not wrong!" Pugo cried, trying to back away from Edward's blade, only to come into contact with Leonardo's chest. "W-what...?"

"You're despicable," Micaiah spat, walking past the man. "Edward, if you please."

Micaiah didn't want to see the sword pierce the man's throat.

"You did it!" deeming the moment safe, Micaiah turned around, stepping over the corpse of Pugo on her way back to the marketplace, where the woman and her son were watching the three with near fanatical glee. "Thank you so much!" the woman paused, truly taking in the sight of the three – not one of them looking a day over nineteen – with mild disappointment. "Children becoming our saviors..." she sighed, shaking her head.

"Think nothing of it," Micaiah gave a dismissive wave, smiling. "We only do what's right, ma'am. Thieves and bandits are in need of such judgment."

"Wise beyond your years..." the woman pulled Micaiah into a brief and gentle hug, cradling her head briefly before releasing her again. _'Hardly_,_'_ Micaiah thought to herself with a scoff, though she dared not make it vocal.

"Hey, you! What do you think you are doing?! Stop right now!" all eyes turned to a higher point, high above the houses on the outskirts of the marketplace, where a small group of Begnion soldiers were standing, glaring down at the small group.

"Well well," Edward chuckled darkly, rubbing the back of his head. "Look who finally decided to make themselves known. Funny they were nowhere to be found when they were needed."

"Yeah, hilarious," Leonardo scoffed, shaking his head. "We can't let ourselves be caught here. Micaiah, Edward, we should run for it! Come on!"

Micaiah nodded, turning toward the lady and her son, "I'm sorry, but we have to – well, you know," she chuckled nervously.

"We know. Thank you again, for all your help. I wish there was more we could --"

"-- You! Don't move!" one of the soldiers bellowed, turning to make his way down the nearby stairs.

Micaiah gulped, "Let's go," she turned to run, finding her right leg's movements hindered slightly by the boy gripping tightly on her leg. "Hmm?" she turned her head, looking down at the boy. "Yes?"

"My name's Nico, lady! When I grow up, I'm gonna be just like you guys! Come back again sometime, okay?" the boy grinned happily despite the situation, holding up a hand, pinkie outstretched.

"Of course," Micaiah smiled as she took the pinky with her own. "Let's see eachother again, Nico," and with that, she ran.

She'd been doing a lot of that lately.

"H-hey! Hold it!" one of the soldiers cried in vain. He slammed a fist onto the wooden fence angrily as they were lost from his sight.

"Who and _what_ are you bellowing at, soldier?" all the soldiers gulped as they turned toward the stairs. There stood who they considered to be the most imposing man in the Begnion empire. Covered from neck to toe – as he was without a helmet – in dark purple armor with shoulder guards that spiked upward to a point at the sides. His smooth hair, a dark red that nicely complimented his coal black eyes, only added to the imposing figure he presented.

The fact that he was never without his lance only added to their fear of the man.

"G-general Jarold?!" from within the ranks of Begnion soldiers came Neva, all but shaking in fear. "When... when did you get here, sir?"

Jarod moved until he was right in Neva's face, scowling at the slightly shorter man. Back at the stairs, a man guarded by thick red armor arrived, taking his position safely off to the side. "Answer my question, maggot. Who. Were. You. Bellowing. At?" He stressed each word individually, flexing his free hand almost threateningly.

"S-sir, they were from the Dawn Brigade, we think." Jarod did nothing but raise a clearly irritated eyebrow, and so Neva continued, "They're a band of thieves who steal goods we take from the townspeople and return them to the people. Truly a virtuous bunch, but they're bothersome."

"And you did nothing but yell at them... why?" Jarod pressed, tapping his foot now.

"They're said to have a witch. The Silver-Haired Maiden, she's called. She's said to be capable of healing wounds simply by laying her hands on an injury. And she has a green haired man near her at almost all times. They aren't to be taken lightly; they've already escaped our grasp on a number of occasions."

It didn't need to be said that their lives were safer by not mentioning that the green haired man in question wasn't present at the time.

"I see..." Jarod drawled, smirking. "I believe I'm finally beginning to understand."

"Sir?"

The smirk faded, "I'm beginning to understand just how incompetent you are!" he barked, thrusting his lance through Neva's chest. Neva immediately fell limp on the lance. "Make the villagers talk. Find out who these idiots are and where they're hiding. They won't escape _me_."

As soon as the soldiers took their leave, the heavily armored man moved to Jarod's side, a smirk on his face, "I really don't care who they are. The stronger the fodder, the more interesting it is for us, right?"

Jarod smirked in kind, "Exactly, Alder. Watching over this washed out place has lost it's luster. A little enjoyment is exactly what I need."

* * *

The relaxation the Greil Mercenaries had resigned to was quickly being disturbed.

While the mercenaries busily worked at packing up their equipment and rations into several small wagons, Ike and Soren oversaw the job from a distance, leaning against the brick wall of the fort's exterior. A frown was permanently fixed onto Ike's face, while Soren's wasn't without it's usual indifference. Similar frowns were on the faces of each of the mercenaries as they carried out their respective duties, without question but grudgingly.

"Running from our own nation..." Titania sighed, running a hand through her long, red hair. "Didn't think it would come to this."

"Duke Felirae will make his move soon," Ike responded, shrugging. "Perhaps this will change Crimea for the better. But fleeing to Daein countryside? Not happy about that. Political carnage over there."

"I've already contacted a couple friends to meet us on the border," Soren responded, turning his head to look at Ike. "We need only get that far, and we'll be safe from Crimea's army. Even with all the nobles against her, the Queen won't send her troops into Daein territory to take us out. Until then, though..."

"Her hand will be forced," Ike finished. "It can't be helped. We'll do our best to avoid the main roads. It will prolong the trip, but it'll be safer. Also, we should avoid the mountains in the northwest."

"I'm sure Bastian is aware of our innocence," Oscar stepped away from the wagon he'd been packing with cooking supplies, smiling. "That should give us a few days' leeway if we leave now."

"Certainly," Soren nodded. "Shall we go Ike?"

"Let's go."

* * *

Well, review if you want. I'll probably wait about a week before I hand out a second chapter, just to see the reception I get. Remember, criticism is preferable to a simple "This is great," or "This is absolutely awful, go die." But I won't be picky.

If anyone's wondering why I had Ike involved in the first chapter, it's because it bothered me that Ike turned out to be the main character despite not showing up until the third part of the game. Don't worry, his earlier role in the story won't have any effect on his role in the game; it's just getting him swept up in things far earlier, is all.


	2. Maiden of Miracles

Okay, as promised, here's chapter two.

To anyone who has looked at my fic in the Code Geass section, you'll know that I tend to take a lot of time to talk here before I get on with the actual story. To my new fans, get used to it because it won't be changing. If that's bothersome to you, you by no means have to read all of this.

Anyway, in response to that wonderfully helpful review from Gaurdianangelzelos, I will be taking the next paragraph or two to go over your review in particular. So if all of this rambling bothers people, blame him. First of all, a thank you is in order. As I said (sorry if I sound like a broken record) it was helpful, and reading it really did get gears in my head moving for this chapter (because keeping motivation running consistently has always been a problem for me).

Now onto the pairings you've so kindly suggested. Sothe and Micaiah is still a really iffy idea to me, I think. I'm not biased against the pairing in any way, but I'm rather liking the idea of all the tension that would come between Sothe and whoever I do want to pair Micaiah with (leaving her unpaired is not an option for me; I like her character far too much). I'm heavily inclined to pair her with Ike, and my current plans for this fic have mostly gone around that possibility (feel free to ask why if you wish, but I won't be answering at the moment). So if anyone is going to jump up and say "That pairing is absolutely awful, and I will stop reading this if you go through with it," well, now is your chance.

As for the other pairings you suggested (except for ElinciaxIke, because I view that pairing as one that's doomed to fail from the start, and so it's really in the same pool as SothexMicaiah, for an entirely different reason. While I won't reveal any plans for any of my pairings (except the IkexMicaiah plan, but really, I couldn't rebuke your SothexMicaiah suggestion without it), much of the more canon pairings from PoR and Radiant Dawn are being looked at. HeatherxNephenee is being ignored for obvious reasons that you've mentioned, but I'm inclined to at least make Heather's sexuality a hinted thing (seeing as I don't want to dodge around the fact that was made regarding it in Radiant Dawn).

And in response to another review pertaining to the necessity of remaining true to the game's story, I'll be taking a liberty in the fact that the only thing Radiant Dawn sets in stone is the storyline itself. The pairings can be made, but that is no more optional than my choice of pairings here will be. Yes MakalovxAstrid is canon, but only if you make it that way. The game doesn't outright tell you that they're together; your own choices make it that way, and you by no means have to do so. And whether I do or not, or even if both will live to see the end of Radiant Dawn (the case is the same with everyone; this is an example), is completely up to me.

It's a poorly made liberty, but I'm all for it.

But that's enough of the pairings talk, because I'm not about to ruin the purpose of actually reading this. More feedback like this is both welcome and to some extent needed; as always any and all reviews are welcomed. I'd rather not look and see I have another review (I read all reviews I get, without question) only to find mindless flaming, but I won't say "flames are not welcome," either. If you feel like flaming me, go for it. Granted, I probably won't listen to you, but feel free.

One last thing to mention is that the two different perspectives can and will be taking place at entirely different times in some instances. While I will be trying to make it as confusion-free as possible, I fear it will be an issue. So if you see one scene ended at Time A and then suddenly the next starts at Time B, well, that doesn't mean a thing really. Each perspective is independent of the other.

Now that all that is out of the way, we can actually get on with things.

* * *

_The light over Daein is a dim one._

_The people are given hope with the existence of the Dawn Brigade, but a group of thieves in solitude can do little to ease the suffering of the people they hope to save. Their efforts are further hindered by the arrival of General Jarod, who's first action is to direct all military forces toward the capture of the Dawn Brigade._

_Adding further to their worries is the presence Micaiah makes in Nevassa. The presence she makes to the people and her silver hair marks her as the Silver Haired Maiden, and all efforts to bring an end to the Dawn Brigade are centered around her removal. Even the considerable skill in the members of the Dawn Brigade isn't enough to protect their maiden, and so their only choice is to flee._

_It is with broken spirits that the Dawn Brigade bid farewell to their homes in Nevassa. _

The bar was alive and people were singing merrily, all as if they hadn't had their lives at risk just the day before. Several of the more drunken fellows were standing on the tables singing, while the worst of the lot looped their arms around the shoulders of two others, forming a line that swayed to and fro in the singing. The patron of the small outlet was smiling and singing along in a hushed voice; everyone was merry as could be in their drunken stupor.

Micaiah found herself watching all the happenings with mild interest, genuinely surprised to see them so merry. Edward and Leonardo sat side by side across from her, brows furrowed in amusement as they watched on. It was both refreshing and disconcerting at the same time, they stated in unison, and soon they too joined in the merry attitude with the laughter that followed. Micaiah was the only normal one of the group, she thought, sitting with her arms folded over her chest, adamantly refusing to take any part in their buffoonery, as Sothe would have called it.

It was only when she had grown thoroughly annoyed with their childish laughter and – by this point, joyous singing – that she cleared her throat in a silencing manner, immediately bringing both of the still chuckling men to abrupt attention, staring at her quizzically. Micaiah narrowed her eyes, mentally conveying her building annoyance, and they got the message quickly. For good measure they kept their lips shut between two fingers, watching the silver haired girl fiddle with a couple coins on the rounded wooden table in front of her, waiting.

Despite the annoyance apparent on her uncharacteristically young features, Micaiah was more than a little nervous as she tried to bring up the subject that had secretly been on the minds of all of them since the day before. Eyes not leaving the coins she rolled back and forth with the undersides of her index fingers, Micaiah tried carefully, "Well... how should we... well..." she paused, mentally smacking her head for the obvious failure of attempt number one. "How should we tell Sothe and Nolan about what happened yesterday?" she asked, almost hesitantly, eyes finally lifting from the coins to look at the two men across from her again, one eye on each of them.

"It's not like we had a choice," Leonardo responded, his voice sullen despite the cheer it had just moments before. "Being spotted by those Begnion soldiers was an unfortunate consequence, but we couldn't simply leave the people alone, right? I'd do it again if necessary," the other two nodded their heads immediately in time with him, agreeing. "Unfortunately, now they know we're near. If they find where we've been staying, like they did with our last hideout..."

Edward's grin, not surprisingly, had managed to fade momentarily as he spoke, "I just don't get it! Why should we have to run and hide, like prisoners in our own country?!"

"Unfortunately, it can't be helped. This isn't 'our' country anymore, since Daein lost the war. That means we're either in hiding, or we die. It's as simple as that," Leonardo closed his eyes, trying to avoid the mocking glare he was receiving from Edward.

Edward dropped his pretense of anger with a scoff, staring idly at the ceiling, "Except Crimea walked away after they conquered us. They didn't even _try_ to repair the damage they did; just waltzed away to their homeland, leaving us in the hand of these Begnion dogs, to suffer for the past three years!" his genuine anger was reaching it's peak, and he stared down at his lap, breathing heavily to try and calm his nerves. "The damn occupying soldiers walk around like they own the place, and Crimea turns a blind eye to our plight when _they_ are responsible for it! Begnion does what they want with us and Crimea does nothing! They're almost as bad as the occupying dogs!"

"To be fair to Crimea, they hardly had a choice. They simply lacked the resources to take time for our plight," all eyes turned toward the doorway where Sothe and another man were standing, the former wearing narrowed eyes and a frown while the latter looked seemingly indifferent about the matter, wearing a small smile. He was dressed from head to toe in worn clothing; his green tunic had small rips and tears, his shoulder guards were slightly rusted, his brown gloves were spotted with blood, his plain pants were torn in a similar fashion as his shirt to the point of being nearly unbearable. The only thing respectable about his appearance was his hair; long, auburn strands that were surprisingly well kept in contrast to his comparably roguish appearance.

"Sothe! And Nolan too!" Micaiah smiled warmly at the sight of her close friends as they made their way over to the group. "I'm glad to see you both are well, and in one piece." Nolan smirked at that, while Sothe – ever the over-matured one – narrowed his eyes in both mock and genuine annoyance.

Leonardo quickly came to her rescue, saying, "The Dawn Brigade is finally present, so can we drop it?" Both Nolan and Sothe regarded him with a look screaming incomprehension, but quickly dismissed the look after seeing the truly apologetic look in the young bowman's eyes. "You two were unusually late. Did something delay you?" he continued, winking discreetly at Micaiah as he further drifted their attention away from her remark.

Sothe caught on immediately, giving a knowing smile to Leonardo as he bid the remark farewell from his mind. "We can only assume our fame is catching up with us. Begnion patrols are everywhere, and working twice as hard. Simply avoiding them was a trouble in and of itself," he explained, that knowing smile fading into a displeased frown. "Is there..."

Nolan didn't allow him to carry through with the question they'd both had on their minds the entire time, cutting him off suddenly, "I've never seen such concentrated efforts in their patrols before. They've always been on the lookout for groups fitting the profile we present, but they were usually pretty lax about it all." Giving a nod to Sothe, they both asked in unison, "Is there something we should know?"

Suddenly feeling put on the spot, Micaiah jumped from her seat, "My throat's feeling a little dry, and the water here is free and..." she paused abruptly, realizing all too quickly that she was rambling. "I'll... be right back," taking great care to avoid the raised eyebrows and glares she received from everyone, Micaiah rushed away from the table, leaving Edward and Leonardo on the spot and Sothe and Nolan completely lost.

And unfortunately for the former two, Micaiah had made any effort to avoid the issue completely pointless. With a sigh and a discreet glare in Micaiah's general direction, Leonardo said, "Well, like Micaiah _clearly_ didn't want to say..." he took a deep breath, and Sothe immediately felt a pit growing in his stomach. "Yesterday, there was a bandit attack. They – not unlike bandits have been known to in the past – targeted the people and their goods rather than the Occupying Army's stores, and Micaiah went to the aid of the people. During the conflict, we were spotted by a squad of Begnion soldiers."

Despite his understanding, a frown was transfixed on Sothe's face. Nolan let out a wolf whistle, but displeasure was evident on his face as well. "That's certainly explains it. But... a run-in with bandits?"

Micaiah, deeming the situation safe, chose that particular moment to return to her seat, a mug of water in hand. "I'm sorry," she put in with a frown, looking into her mug of water. "It may have only been bandits, but we had to help. We caused everyone trouble, and we were careless, but it couldn't be helped."

Sothe's face didn't calm at all with that remark, "We'll worry about the bandit issue. But more importantly, Micaiah, were you seen healing anyone with Sacrifice?"

"No, I managed to avoid using Sacrifice. But they were still able to make the connected between me and the information they have regarded the Silver-Haired Maiden, I'm afraid." This seemed to, despite all odds, make Sothe a little happier, but it didn't make the situation any better. Micaiah finally raised her head, offering a small smile as a meager apology.

"That is good," Sothe admitted, risking a small smile before the frown reappeared in full force, strong as ever. "It's imperative that people not know what you can do. Healing without a stave or a tome is a rare gift – unheard of to many, even – and you'd be given away immediately if you were seen using it. And if that were to happen we'd have the whole of Begnion's forces on you, and I don't know if even I could protect you then."

"I _know_, Sothe," Micaiah replied, irritation dripping from her mouth like venom. "I know the risks that come with using Sacrifice, Sothe. The physical ones and the ones that come with using it in public."

"And yet you continue to throw yourself in situations where _not_ using it is almost impossible! We can't afford to be so careless. You of all people know that, Micaiah," he shook as head as an exasperated sigh forced it's way from the back of his throat, and as he looked back at Micaiah his eyes softened upon seeing the hurt in her's. "At any rate, if you're their number one suspect, we're no longer safe here. We should leave immediately."

Nolan nodded, adding, "Much as I would have liked a single meal in peace, that is correct. The alleyways appeared to be less guarded than the main roads, so we'll be best off using them. We should gather just what we can carry in supplies, and go now while we still have the light. Trying to do this by night will be suicide."

One hour later they – minus Sothe – were on their way, plotting out routes that made their trip from the bar to the outskirts of the city as painless and life threatening as possible. With only two possible routes – one to the right and one going forward - they didn't have many options, but those two options were quickly narrowed when Edward returned from investigating the former of the two with a scowl on his face, saying, "This way isn't good either. Soldiers occupying nearly every alleyway. I'd be surprised if anything could sneak by them."

Nolan returned from the other path, walking down the stairs at a leisurely pace, his face showing a mix of worry and relief, "It looks like our best bet is this path. But even so, it's completely swarming with them. Avoiding a conflict may very well be impossible this time."

"And there are more coming from behind as well. We'll be finished if we don't move quickly!" Micaiah put in worriedly. Nolan nodded, taking the information in stride as he thought out how best to go about their risky but necessary escape.

"Unfortunately, waiting for Sothe isn't an option," he said as soon as the realization hit him. That hit the group like a brick, but their determination to escape their situation wasn't dwindled. With a quiet groan, Nolan continued, pointing forward where, behind several houses, the top of a church could be seen, "The stairs by the church will lead to the marketplace. If we could make it there..."

"We'd be safe," Micaiah concluded. Nolan nodded.

"Exactly. I'll go first and clear the way, and you two," he nodded to Micaiah and Leonardo, who nodded back. "You two will cover my back. Remember that keeping your distance is a necessity. Teaming up will make the job easier, as well."

"And what about me?" Edward asked, tapping his foot impatiently.

"You'll watch their backs. You're getting better, Edward, but you are still new to all this. You will be better served back there," Nolan responded with a frown.

Edward waved a hand, dismissing Nolan's attempt at providing sympathy, "Yeah, I got it. I'll make sure nobody stabs you guys in the back."

"If you've got it, let's get going," and with that, Nolan pulled the glistening axe from his side and rushed forward, Micaiah and Leonardo hot on his heel.

* * *

"Yer a pretty one, aren'cha?"

A bandit's slurring was among the most irritating things a person could possibly recall hearing. This observation was no different in the case of Mia, who childishly stuck her tongue out at the offending bandit before closing the distance between them in a barely visible movement, and by the time his senses had come back into focus she was beside him, sword sheathed into his stomach. "Just die," she whispered bitterly, although the bitter was lost to the higher pitch her voice carried, instead portraying something resembling mild amusement.

Ike was only a short distance away, beheading one bandit and cleaving deep into the side of another with a single swing of his large sword, coupled with the near godly strength of his toned muscles. That same motion was continued as he pivoted to the left, slashing in a diagonal motion through another bandit. He dodged under an incoming axe, stepping to the side to avoid it on it's return course before throwing his sword at the bandit with frightening accuracy, lodging it in the bandit's chest.

The only light came from the half moon shining brightly overhead, lulling many into a deep sleep at such a time. In fact, Ike and Mia were the only members of the Greil Mercenaries – save for Soren, who had yet to sleep – who were awake, as they were the ones on watch when they suddenly fell under attack by bandits.

Ike should have known better than to carelessly set camp in the middle of the Cila region, although the look on Soren's face as he sat against one of their tents told him he wasn't particularly worried. And seeing as Ike and Mia alone had exterminated an entire group of nearly ten bandits, that lack of worry suddenly seemed completely reasonable.

"Soren," the mage looked up as Ike neared, but his face showed not the slightest flicker of emotion. "You should get some rest. It would be problematic if you're tired on the road; if we have a run-in with Crimean patrols, we'll need all available hands." Soren nodded as he stifled a yawn against the back of his hand, closing the book he had been reading and heading toward one of the four tents the group had set up. Moments later Boyd came out in his place, nodding toward the tents for Mia and Ike to get some rest. Oscar stepped out of the same tent Ike was stepping into, rubbing his eyes lazily as he tried to focus. Ike gave him a sympathetic smile in passing.

When the first of the sun's rays peeked in through the opening of his tent Ike awoke again, only mildly refreshed but refusing to dwell on the matter. By the time he'd finished waking up just about everyone else was up and packing as well; they had a lot of ground to cover if they were to reach the border before Crimea was forced to send someone that could be troublesome to the Greil Mercenaries.

Like, say, the Royal Knights. Ike was less than enthused about that possibility.

By noon the mercenaries had reached the large trade outpost of Oren, a welcome change from the threatening situation they were in on the road. It was easy to hide in the large outpost, and the fact that it was more of a meeting grounds for merchants from Crimea, Begnion and Gallia alike made hiding out that much easier. Crimea's presence in the city was minimal at best, and so Soren immediately claimed the place suitable for their resting until night fell, when they would be on the march again.

The group split up in search of whatever they felt they would need; Oscar went off to see what could be found in the way of fresh ingredients, Rhys and Mist worked together in search of medication that they'd been forced to abandon when they left the fort, and the rest were either exploring or settling in for some R&R. Ike found his way to the nearest bar, taking a seat at the table closest to the door. Soren followed him in, sitting across from him silently.

Ike waved a dismissive hand when a bartender tried offering him a drink. As soon as prying ears were away, he looked at Soren curiously, "We shouldn't linger here for long. The R&R is keeping the mercenaries happy, but Crimea will catch up if we delay."

Soren nodded at once, "From here we should follow the Begnion border to the Daein borders. Bandit attacks are more frequent along that path, but the patrols on the border are aligned with Begnion, and we'll be safe from Crimea." Ike nodded in agreement before looking off, his eyes growing suddenly distant. "What's on your mind?" Soren asked with the kind of caring nature he only showed with Ike – and even then he was reserved about how open he was. Reserved enough that not even Ike's opinion of his friend differed far from the 'cold and calculating strategist' image everyone else saw in him.

"We're running away," Ike stated bluntly, frowning. When Soren raised an eyebrow, his eyes begging Ike to elaborate, he did, "Crimea is in a time of civil war, Soren."

Soren's expression didn't change, "Staying here will get us killed. Until we have an opportunity to repair our situation, running is our only option, Ike. You know that."

Ike knew he was an idiot for dwelling on the matter. But even a commander, he figured, was entitled to the growing pit he felt in his stomach at that particular moment. And that pit was half-filled with guilt about abandoning the country he'd restored, and the source of his anxiety suddenly felt completely moronic. "We should get going," Ike said as he stood, not wanting to continue the line of conversation they'd been going down. "If we take another hour gathering supplies, we can make some decent ground before dusk, and then we can be more free about our movements."

Two hours later – Gatrie had fallen asleep against a tree and waking him had been a hopeless endeavor – the group was on their way, taking great care to stay off the main roads as an extra precaution. Begnion patrols were thick, a testament to the paranoia of the nobles, but most were relatively new recruits who likely didn't even know of the Greil Mercenaries. The nobles were far too absorbed in their own selves to worry about their soldiers knowing of a simple gang of mercenaries that happened to be some of the finest warriors in Tellius.

Even if Begnion owed as much to them as they did to Begnion. It's Empress in particular.

The moon had hardly settled in the sky when Ike came to a sudden stop. Soren stopped next, looking at Ike quizzically, and the rest did the same, waiting. Ike looked at them all incredulously, "You hear that?" Sure enough, when he focused his ears Soren could hear footsteps. Big ones, and there were a lot of them. His grip tightened on his tome as they all turned toward a distant hill where, moments later, a massive bandit army was extending along it's length. One pointed in the direction of the group and the rest looked, discussing for a moment before charging down the hill with no sense of formation whatsoever.

Not that they needed it. This must have been one of the most prominent bandit groups along the border, at nearly one hundred in number. Nobody had long to consider it before they were forced into the battle. Mist and Rhys disappeared off to the side where they were protected by Gatrie and Boyd, while Rofl and Shinon stood nearby picking off enemies where they had openings. The rest were thoroughly busy attacking the bandits head on, despite the sheer overwhelming odds they faced. They had faced worse odds against stronger enemies, after all.

But it would be a long night of fighting, that was for sure.

Soren had it the worst of the lot. He hardly got any solid attacks in due to constantly having to move, although when he did the results were nothing short of devastating. Ike had it comparably easy, cutting into one bandit after another with reckless abandon, switching over to using his large sword for defense when necessary. Nobody lived long enough to get behind and flank him, and his swings made sure anyone coming from the front had their lifespans shortened considerably.

When the fighting was finally over, things were a mess. Ike was covered almost entirely from the neck down in blood, and the rest weren't off much better. Rofl was sprawled out on the ground with Rhys hovering over him, a stave shining brightly over a large wound in the young archer's torso. Soren had a couple scratches from unfortunate mishaps when trying to dodge in the middle of casting, but other than that the situation was not surprising to Ike.

The piles of corpses all around him were not welcome in the least, but that thought was pushed to the back of his mind rather quickly. While everyone else took to looking over each other Ike checked their supply wagons, glad to find they hadn't been touched. Their map of the Crimean countryside had spelled out quite clearly that beyond Oren, there was going to be nearly no means of resupplying unless they had means of doing so on demand. And, unlike during the war, they didn't now.

It took only ten minutes for the wounds to be dealt with, with the exception of Rolf who was still quite unconscious, being securely held by his brother Oscar, head resting on the older brother's shoulder. Oscar mounted his horse again, placing Rolf in front of him. Everyone else was more than capable of making due on their own, and the mercenaries were on the move again.

Not even Soren noticed the squadron of Crimean soldiers that had been tailing them since they left Oren.

* * *

"This is just ridiculous!" Edward cried, prying his sword from the bicep of an unlucky soldier, and the body fell to the ground with a soft thud as soon as it lost it's support. Nolan was right in front of him, swatting away any lances that tried to strike at him, the brute force of his axe proving more than enough to launch them off their projected course. Behind the bother of them were Micaiah and Leonardo, doing what they could to provide support.

"They had more men than we were expecting, that's for sure," Nolan grunted, cleaving a soldier across the midsection with his axe. As soon as his right arm had returned to his side he grabbed the much shorter axe with an edge on either side of it with his left hand, flinging it toward a distant archer. The archer in question was too far into preparing his next shot to react, and the axe returned to Nolan at the same moment as the man crumpled to the ground, blood forming around his lips and dribbling down his chin.

"This is...!" Micaiah managed to duck under another arrow before springing into action, letting fly the burst of light energy she'd had prepared. The offending archer cried out in agony as the light's tendrils tore through him without abandon, burning his insides as much as his outsides. As he crumpled to the ground, the burns had spread from where the light had tore into him, and by the time Micaiah could tear her eyes away nearly his entire body was charred.

"Keep your head up, Micaiah," Nolan chided, throwing his hand axe at a soldier, snapping it in half. It fell to the ground near the soldier, but Nolan didn't particularly mind as Leonardo immediately picked off the unarmed soldier with a shot to the throat. Edward dashed forward and grabbed the axe, tossing it back at Nolan before thrusting his sword into one of the many openings a nearby soldier's armor had. The man shifted slightly and blocked with his shield before thrusting, and only Nolan's timely arrival saved him. "Get back and watch our rear, Edward."

Sulking, he made his way back, taking a position just behind Leonardo and watching. They hadn't fallen under attack from behind yet, but it was clear that it was only a matter of time. Edward had hoped that his assistance alongside Nolan would egg things along enough to get them to safety before the reinforcements arrived, but Nolan didn't seem willing to take such a risk.

And so when reinforcements did arrive – and faster than he had thought they would, at that – he was both delighted that his mission wasn't pointless and disheartened that Nolan had been right in ordering him back. The thought that he was outnumbered and at a disadvantage casually missed his mind until a lance grazed his side immediately after dodging one, and he cursed loudly. As a thrust from the first one came in he leaped over the lance, and when he landed he pushed his sword into the man's torso with so much force that he pierced the armor. The soldier died immediately.

Pulling his sword out again proved more taxing, and it resulted in a rather embarrassing dance around a still standing corpse as Edward fought to pry his sword from the body. When it finally came free the corpse nearly fell on him, but he narrowly managed to dodge both it and the thrust that came a moment later, thrusting his own sword forward and into the second soldier's throat.

Nolan wasn't having nearly as much luck. They were down to the last group defending the stairs that would lead them to the center of town, but the remaining defenders were swordsmen all. Micaiah and Leonardo did what they could, but Nolan trying to play defense against swordsmen was proving to be quite taxing. He swung his axe toward one of the swordsmen, but he dodged with ease before swinging at Nolan from the side. He managed to bring his axe to the side to block, but then the swordsman pulled back, and the third attempt resulting in a sword digging into his shoulder.

As he slumped down to one knee Leonardo used the opening provided to fire, killing the swordsman instantly. Micaiah – who'd been held down with a couple soldiers elsewhere – rushed over to Nolan and, without another word, pressed her hand to the wound. It began to glow, and then the wound was gone. Micaiah was panting afterwards and cursing the fact that her power was so draining, but willpower kept her on two feet.

"... Come on," Nolan said as he stood, gasping. He hadn't made it two steps before another swordsman came tumbling down the stairs ahead, sword poised to strike. Edward managed to slide ahead at the last minute, and throw his sword up in a haphazard defense. Edward pushed back against the new foe, overpowering him in an instant. Before the man could attack again, Edward had pierced him at the shoulder.

As he cried out, Edward said, "Nolan, I took care of a couple reinforcements, but can you take care of the rest? Swordsmen are, well..." Nolan smiled widely at Edward's attempt at reasoning and nodded, rushing past the other two to keep watch. Edward pulled his sword out and the man – much to Edward's surprise – began attacking as if he had no wound at all. It became a flurry of back and forth attacks, both moving so quickly that Leonardo and Micaiah couldn't find a decent shot on the man.

The swordsman himself was growing rather annoyed with Edward's swift movements, "What a fast little rat you are. Though, I shouldn't be surprised, seeing as you're scurrying around in the back alleys like a bunch of mice." Edward fell for the taunt immediately and went on the offensive, caring only about taking down the man in front of him. "Temper, temper..." the man sighed as he blocked each attack with little effort, barely doing more than a couple steps while waving his arm around to meet each strike. Edward was all over the place, burning himself out in his tempered efforts to bring his enemy to his knees. "No wonder they didn't trust you being up front," he knew that was the last straw for Edward's temper.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Edward began swinging his sword so swiftly the naked eye could only pick up blurs, but his opponent was more than capable of watching the movements. His sword continued to block each hit flawlessly, each one egging Edward closer and closer to exhaustion. Edward finally began panting and his swinging slowed, and that was when he was forced onto the defensive. His attempts to block weren't in vain, but it was clear he was losing ground quickly.

"You should work on your temper, rat," the man spat, laughing gleefully as Edward's movements became slurred, almost as if he were in a drunken daze. The catch being that he was completely sober, and his movements were entirely byproducts of his exhaustion. "See, we – that is, the servants of the senate – are not aloud to be weak. We are not aloud to allow emotions to get the better of us. We are trained harshly to focus on this reality. And I, Captain Isaiya of the Begnion Occupation Army's Sixteenth Division, am a testament to the will of the senate!"

Edward managed to control his breathing as he glared daggers at his enemy, "Is there strength in what you're doing to the people?! Walking all over them for being Daein citizens?! Stealing from them like common thieves?!" Edward's anger brought our a spur of strength in him, and he pushed back, swinging at Isaiya savagely, determined to kill him in the most brutal way possible. "You're weak! The strong should be protecting the citizens, not oppressing them! Begnion's dogs are all the same, and you..." he gasped for breath as he swung with every bit of force he had, tearing the sword from Isaiya's hands. "Will die!" before Isaiya could react his head had been removed from his body, and in the brief moment before his body fell Edward dealt several slashes across it's chest.

Edward fell to the ground panting and his eyes stared ahead in what could only be considered a lifeless daze. Nolan helped him up onto his back; as they walked onward, Edward's head fell onto Nolan's shoulder and he fell asleep almost immediately. As Leonardo looked over he smiled; despite how serious he was when his sword was in hand, a sleeping Edward looked like a small child. It was an adorable sight, everyone had to admit.

"There they are! After them!" Nolan looked back to see a gathering of soldiers where Edward had just finished fighting. Nolan gulped, audibly, and Leonardo and Micaiah looked back. They were frozen for a moment until Sothe appeared from in the crowd of people, grabbing Micaiah's hand and pulling her along behind him. That seemed to snap Nolan and Leonardo out of their daze and they followed, neither particularly eager to have their head cut off and put on display on the end of a lance.

"Hey, hey!" Micaiah vaguely noted hearing someone calling out to her, but dismissed it as she was tugged along by Sothe. "Lady!" the voice tried again, and then she gave Sothe's arm a tug, bringing him to a stop so she could search the crowds. Off to the side stood Nico and his mother, the latter with a delicate frown on her face and the former grinning, waving in their direction.

"Nico!" Micaiah bounded over to the two, dropping to her knees and smiling warmly at the child. "You're looking well."

"You, not so much," the mother said, looking down at Micaiah with that same frown. Micaiah leaped to her feet and shrugged, indifferent. "Are they after you again?"

"Are you and your friends alright, lady?" Nico put in, smiling hesitantly.

"Unfortunately, they are." Micaiah looked down at Nico, smiling again, "And yes, we are _perfectly_ fine," she ruffled the boy's hair.

There were a few loud gasps as soldiers began pouring into the market, eyes scanning the crowd. A man covered from head to toe in crimson armor stepped to the front of the line of soldiers, scowling, "God dammit! Where the hell could they be?!" he snapped. Several soldiers behind him jumped at the harsh tone in his voice, but the majority were more than used to it.

An old man pushed Micaiah away, smiling slightly, "Go on. Leave them to us, and get yourselves to safety."

Micaiah gaped, "But..."

Nico's mother pulled the shocked girl into a warm embrace, smiling, "You're all we've got. Now go on."

Sothe nodded, "We won't forget this," he smiled as he took Micaiah's hand, overpowering her attempts at staying behind. The rest followed behind as they filed into an alleyway, trying as best they could to avoid any further possibilities of detection.

Micaiah swore that she'd be back someday, and that she wouldn't be running.

* * *

"This is our camp for the night." Fort Derta certainly wasn't the most luxurious of the many defensive positions Crimea had abandoned after reclaiming Melior, but it went without saying that it had more charm than the cold ground of the countryside. In size it was comparable to the defensive positions at Fort Pinnel and Nados Castle, but the four years it had been unoccupied had left it a mere shadow of it's original lustre.

"Oscar and Boyd will take the first watch," Ike continued. Nodding, the two mercenaries in question took off. Ike then looked toward Mia and Rhys, "One of you take the east wing, and one of you take the west. Find any other entrances and seal them off." They too nodded and went off. "The rest of you can get some rest. We'll stay in the west wing." Everyone else took off, briefly saying words of farewell to their leader before they disappeared around the corner, eager to get some rest.

Ike followed Boyd and Oscar up to the battlements where they were keeping watch. Whoever had been in charge of the defenses at Fort Derta had been a self-indulgent commander, as there were several seats along the side that overlooked that faced away from the road outside. Ike took one of them and leaned back, resting his eyes and allowing the fresh air to stroke his face almost lovingly. The wind was not nonexistent and it wasn't overly forceful; it was a gentle wind that cooled him and kept him warm at the same time.

"Commander, what are you doing here?" as Ike had arrived rather silently, it took the two on watch several minutes to grow fully away of his presence. Oscar had said nothing as he continued to look, but Boyd had ignored his duties and had turned around, quirking an eyebrow at Ike.

Ike opened one eye to look at Boyd, and he shrugged, "I'm not tired."

"That's hardly a reason to be up here with us," Boyd challenged, moving his hands to his hips and tilting his head, smirking.

Ike's expression didn't change, "Do I need a reason?"

Oscar joined in at that moment, eyes not leaving the horizon he'd been gazing at, "Not really, but curiosity is an interesting thing, no?"

Ike sighed as he looked at Oscar and then back at Boyd, "I'd rather be out here than stuck in there with noting to do. Satisfied?"

"It'll do," Boyd turned around, continuing his job of watching the horizon. The newly reigning silence was broken only by the occasional whistle of the wind, and it was music to their ears. Ike's eyes had nearly drifted to a close when that silence was disrupted once again by Boyd, although this time he seemed far more frantic, "Ike?"

"Mmm?"

"Shall I go wake up the others?"

Ike raised an eyebrow, "Why?"

"You may want to see for yourself." Ike complied and stood, making his way to the edge and looking out into the horizon. There, waving in the wind, was a Crimean flag atop a long pole. The flag bearer was atop a white horse and he rode to and fro, holding a trumpet in his free hand and blowing into it. And behind him was an entire column of soldiers, all mounted and staring down the fort. There were some knights flying overhead, but they were vastly outnumbered by those on the ground.

The Royal Knights had arrived.

"Boyd, go wake everyone _now_. Oscar, get your horse and prepare Titania's as well. This is not going to be fun."

The two hastened to obey, leaving Ike alone to stare down the – by his estimation – one thousand Royal Knights on the horizon. Some of his friends would be in that army – particularly Geoffrey, who would be their commander – and Ike was not looking forward to this. The sword he had sheathed along his lower back was immediately removed, and his fingers grew cold around his sword, and he felt his heart racing.

He proceeded to groan, unable to keep his gaze on the soldiers waiting to surround the fort and wipe out the Greil Mercenaries, instead looking up to the moon. It looked rather beautiful he had to admit, and it sparked a small feeling of relief in him despite their plight. It was shining as brightly as ever, without a cloud in the sky to obscure his view of it.

Elsewhere, deep in a forest on the outskirts of Nevassa, a certain silver haired thief was gazing up at that same moon. Her life at that moment was far more peaceful, but her heart was no less troubled than the blue haired mercenary's. And as the two leaders looked at that same moon, their thoughts crossed along the same path, and they found themselves thinking the same thing.

This was only the beginning.

* * *

Chapter two, end. I'm disappointed with my second scene with the Dawn Brigade, but I think this lived up to expectations otherwise. Hopefully next chapter will continue to do so.


	3. The Dispossessed

This is coming together much better than I had hoped so far, really. I expected more criticism regarding my use of the Greil Mercenaries so early into the fic, but I'm no displeased to find that to not be the case, of course.

And I feel I need to explain the whole IkexMicaiah, SothexMicaiah thing. Yes, I am adamantly against the latter. But really, its not like you'll be deprived of it. I'd have to be a pretty bad writer (or a really good one depending on your perspective) to manage to write Part One without including any SothexMicaiah. Its just kinda... there, and I'd be leaving a lot out if I tried to dodge it. So people who want their SothexMicaiah fix will get it, sure, but it isn't staying that way.

Also, to Moogle Studios, I don't know where you're coming from when commenting on me killing tons of people off. Character favoritism is great and all, but for the most part you won't have to worry; I can't say whether or not Edward and Nolan will live to get to go stabby-stabby with Goddess fanatics, but I won't be killing off many people. A story loses a lot of appeal if it kills off too many people, I think, but the odd casualty is realistic. Hopefully people won't freak out when a character they like does die, but I suspect I'm asking for too much.

I really hate coming back here halfway through a chapter to add more in response to newer reviews, but I always end up doing it. So to solve the confusion issue Blue Mage Quarter presented, I'll have a brief summary before everything else this chapter. When you review, please let me know whether or not you want it to stay in future chapters; I don't mind doing it, but it will just be troublesome to all of you if the majority of you don't want it.

That is all I need to say for this chapter, so we can get going quickly.

* * *

Faced with the threat of extinction, both the Dawn Brigade and the Greil Mercenaries are to put to flight. The Dawn Brigade fought valiantly to escape the grasp of the Begnion Occupation Army while the Greil Mercenaries fled across the Crimean countryside, forced into flight for their armed acts against Duke Felirae. The Dawn Brigade manages to escape their home, left without a home of their own in their flight. Meanwhile the Greil Mercenaries take up refuge in Fort Derta where they are challenged by the Royal Knights, revealing the grim truth that matters pertaining to the Greil Mercenaries are entirely in the hands of Duke Felirae.

* * *

_The flames of war were spreading._

_The existence of the Dawn Brigade continued to spread conflict and strife across Daein, with no intention of slowing down. Word spread like wildfire that the Dawn Brigade was on the move, and the news that they had escaped Begnion's grasp alone raises spirits. Revolts begin to break out once again, and efforts to pursue the Dawn Brigade are inevitably postponed to address these new issues._

_Meanwhile, Crimea faces a similar dilemma. The Greil Mercenaries' armed refusal to return to court and their subsequent march toward Daein turned their country into a battleground. Despite her wises, Queen Elinicia is forced to dispatch units to all major roads in the country to put a stop to their flight. When all else fails, it is the Royal Knights who are dispatched to bring an end to the small group of mercenaries._

_Both countries found their fates slowly being wound together as two people – Crimea's Hero and the Silver-Haired Maiden – set the gears of change in motion_

* * *

"Commander Geoffrey, Second Commander Kieran and Captain Makar are ready and awaiting your orders." Geoffrey looked toward the sky, heaving a heavy sigh. Today was a dark day indeed for Crimea, being forced to hunt the mercenaries that they owed their nation to. What was there to gain from this battle? Geoffrey often found himself wondering that. And what had the Greil Mercenaries done, exactly? Somehow, Duke Felirae's claims that the Greil Mercenaries had assassinated one of his messengers on a whim was rather dubious.

Sir Ike was far too honorable a man to do that, Geoffrey rationalized.

"Send in the first wave. They are far fewer than us, but Sir Ike has proved to make the most of hopeless situations. Discretion is to be foremost on everyone's mind." The messengers on either side of him rushed off to relay the orders, leaving Geoffrey alone to his musings once more. He'd be put in the same boat as Sir Ike is he disobeyed, but really... was it any better to make an enemy out of someone who, the more Geoffrey thought about it, seemed like he was being framed?

_'It can't be helped. I just follow orders,'_ he tried to reason with himself, in vain. As the first wave – one hundred in all – charged toward Fort Derta, he couldn't help but pray that Sir Ike and the other mercenaries would be okay. He knew he shouldn't, he knew that the position he was in demanded his complete acceptance, but he simply couldn't. Especially not when his Queen suffered from the same misgivings.

At the fort, Gatrie and Boyd set up a wall of defense at the gates with Rhys and Soren behind them for support, mowing down anyone who came within striking distance of their lance or axe. Rolf and Shinon fired at the steeds from the walls, and Titania and Oscar remained inside, prepared to act as a second line of defense in case the first one began to falter. Mia, Ike and Mist remained nearby, prepared to assist whenever necessary.

There wasn't much else they could do in such a defensive position.

Not that they were needed. Gatrie and Boyd did the defending job quite nicely, struggling only when the foe in question was armed with a boy, and then Soren was ready to lend a hand almost immediately. Whenever one of them – usually Boyd – took any real damage Rhys was right there healing, and after ten minutes the first wave of the Royal Knights had been reduced to a minor annoyance.

Geoffrey noticed this immediately, but his calm exterior didn't show any of his actual worry. He turned to the nearest soldier, saying, "Send in the second wave to join the conflict. Send in Sir Makalov and Lady Astrid's squads to try and find an alternate entrance. I'm sure there's another." Again the soldier nodded and rode off, and soon there was another long line of knights charging toward the fort while two other, much smaller squads moved in on either side of the fort, unnoticed for the most part by the Greil Mercenaries.

Which was a good thing, given the fact that even the fresh reinforcements could do little in the face of the stellar defenses posted at the front gate. Eventually Boyd armed himself with a hand axe and took post behind Gatrie, directing all the attacks to Gatrie's nearly impregnable armor while he picked off the steeds on which the knights rode with his axe. That, coupled with the thrusts of Gatrie's lance and the arrows raining down from the walls all amounted to a very successful defensive position that the Royal Knights simply couldn't breach.

But like any great walls, they slowly dwindled in strength as they get hit harder and harder, and it wasn't long before Ike had Boyd rushing back to rest while he took his friend's place. Ike immediately fell under attack by two lance wielding knights and one brandishing a sword, all of which fell swiftly to powerful swings of his large sword. Three more immediately took their place over and over, and even Ike's strength found itself tested against the sheer numbers they faced.

Things weren't looking well for the Greil Mercenaries.

* * *

Micaiah sighed as she looked up at the slowly rising sun. It had been but a single day since their departure from Nevassa, and already tension was high among the Dawn Brigade's members; already Edward had been at Nolan's throat on a number of occasions for reasons that were steadily losing any sense of logic, and Leonardo and Sothe had resigned themselves to a stoic silence to avoid the same ill fate. The only one who seemed to be in good spirits was Micaiah, who was still clinging firmly to the belief that 'the goddess was watching over them' as she had said several times.

Only Sothe bothered to listen to her when she said that anymore.

"I'm not a kid! I have every right to fight just like everyone else!" And unfortunately, the deteriorating logic had declined to mindless arguments much like the one they were currently in. Micaiah sat down next to a tree and allowed her eyes to drift close, hoping only to wait out the storm of their latest argument.

"Are you okay?" Of course, Sothe just happened to be far too protective to allow that.

"I'm fine," Micaiah swatted at hair that had fallen into her face, and groaned when her efforts failed to make any difference. "Just... get them to stop."

"Thats easier said than done."

Micaiah sighed dejectedly, "Nolan, where are we now?"

Nolan's argument with Edward was brought to an immediate halt as he did an about face, pulling out a map an staring holes through it for several seconds, "We're about a half-mark from Kisca, if you're wanting to stock up. But going there would mean..."

"... Going right into the hands of Begnion," Sothe concluded, extending a hand to pull Micaiah to her feet. "Its not good, but we'd best steer clear of towns for the time being. The last thing we want to do is help them follow us."

Edward's pent up anger got the better of him as closed the distance between Nolan and himself, glaring up at the senior, "Don't tell me that means _another_ night on the cold ground! I'm sick of having nothing but bugs to warm us!"

Micaiah, notorious as the one to retain hope when everyone else had cast it aside, turned to Edward with a broad smile, unburdened by the many things that weighed down on their small group, "Come on, its not that bad! The forest is so calm, serene... isn't that right, Yune? The sound of the animals, the natural feeling, the..."

Edward chose to leave her alone in her dreamy daze, turning back to Nolan, "We should at least see if

we can find some means of indoor shelter! It shouldn't be that hard to --"

"-- O-oh, excuse me!" And a case of 'speak of the devil' struck as a small girl, probably no older than sixteen, rushed toward them from between a small cluster of trees, her short black hair disheveled and her white robes a dirty mess. "A-are you guys heading to town, by any chance...?"

Nolan took it upon himself to evaluate the girl, asking, "Why do you ask?"

The girl grimaced under his harsh tone, "Our abbot is ill, but we can't do anything about it because Begnion is hoarding all our provisions in the manor. Please, help!"

The girl's plight immediately got Micaiah's attention. She turned to the girl, wide eyed and smiling, saying, "We'd be glad to help! We're the Dawn Brigade, at your service! And who are you?"

"I-I'm Laura."

"Well, Laura, I'm Micaiah. And these people are Sothe, Nolan, Edward and Leonardo. Please, lead the way."

By noon the group had reached the outskirts of Kisca, a small city fortified by an unnaturally large amount of guards, surely because of the Dawn Brigade's reputation, Micaiah thought. Making their way to the manor took no small amount of effort – not that the Dawn Brigade wasn't already acquainted with the art of stealthily making their way through alleyways – but they managed to do so without being spotted. They gathered in the foyer that Micaiah had assured them would be clear. Sometimes, her erratic future sight was a boon indeed.

"Sothe, do you know what the layout of the manor is like?"

Sothe nodded immediately, "I do. I was here two years ago, but my memory is fresh." He tapped a finger to his chin thoughtfully for a moment before nodding again, pleased with his memory's work, "As I recall, there is a large armory deep inside the building. And unless its changed since, Begnion soldiers keep stolen goods – from the necessities to rare objects – in that armory."

"So the medicine will be there as well," Micaiah concluded. "That settles it then. We're heading toward the armory."

Laura stepped forward timidly, visibly shaking, "Are you sure? I mean, this is a lot of trouble and..."

Micaiah gave off a dismissive wave, "We don't mind at all, Laura. Danger is part of what we do, after all. Just leave it to us, okay?"

Sothe finished the statement, saying, "Your abbot will have his medicine, don't worry."

Laura smiled brightly, "Thank you, thank you! At least allow me to aid you, though. I can use a stave, at least."

Sothe nodded eagerly, "That is more than reasonable." Micaiah nodded as well, smiling. That business set aside, Sothe's serious side returned full force, and his face was clouded over in the same distant indifference he often wore, "I'll find a back entrance and unlock the door to the armory, and then I'll ambush them up ahead. Is that okay, Micaiah?"

"Of course."

As Sothe disappeared outside again, the remainder of the Dawn Brigade began the arduous task of navigating the large manor. They left the foyer into a small corridor – one which, Micaiah had to note, was unexpectedly devoid of any of the usual abundance of decoration that was commonplace in Begnion. The ground was an unpolished stone and the walls were hardly any better of, more often than not having small cracks or holes in them.

The only advantage to the rugged design was the near impossibility of concealing movements, which was certainly a blessing when they heard the loud footsteps of someone approaching from the far side of the room opposite their place in the hallway. Nolan took the front with his axe ready, Leonardo right behind him and Laura nearby, both of them prepared to carry out their respective duties.

The dim light began to center on the soldier now at the end of the hallway who's eyes were wide as he said, "I-intude --" before he was cut off by having his chest dug into by Nolan's axe, and an arrow lodging itself securely in his armpit. He was dead before so much as a strangled gasp could leave his body.

"If the patrols are as thick here as they were in the city, then they already know we're here now," Nolan remarked as they climbed over the corpse and into the small room beyond it. At the far end was a set of stairs that led to the second floor of the manor, and save for the low quality carpet covering the ground the room was completely empty. And was that _mold _Nolan saw on the ceiling? Clearly the manor wasn't home to anyone of frightening importance.

"Intruders! Get them!"

"... As I said." Edward took his place beside Nolan as a group of soldiers converged with them, resulting in a fierce melee. Edward ducked as Nolan launched his hand axe at a soldier followed by digging his much larger axe into the chest of another soldier. Edward covered him by rushing at an axe wielding soldier, ducking under his slow swing before thrusting his sword through the man's throat. He spun around and stepped to the side as a lance was thrust in his direction, and a strangled cry of pain followed as the familiar tendrils of light tore through the offending soldier from all sides. Edward gasped to regain his breath as the group gathered in the center of the room, now accompanied by the thick scent of blood.

"Anyone wounded?" Nolan looked about the group and, satisfied that nobody had taken any wounds, smiled, "Good! Shall we go?"

"Wait." Micaiah walked to the base of the stairs, inspecting them for a long moment before frowning, "There's an ambush waiting for us up there."

"How many did you see?" Nolan asked, frowning.

"Five of them. They hide in the shadows. Even knowing they are there, we'd be dead before we could move."

Nolan nodded, beckoning Leonardo over with a wave of his hand, "Fire toward the top of the stairs, then run. If they know we know they're there, they will charge blindly to kill us."

As soon as Leonardo had fired, that is exactly what happened. The small group abandoned their ambush locales and charged down the stairs to their waiting enemies, falling into the snare Nolan had set. All five fell under axe, sword, bow or tendrils of light before they could so much as raise their weapons in defense. The Dawn Brigade took the momentum to the second floor, wiping out any stagnant troops waiting for them.

Micaiah suddenly came to a stop as the group began to assemble in the hallway they'd just entered. Her eyes went wide a moment later, and she shouted over to Nolan, "Get back!" Unfortunately he didn't move quite fast enough, and an arrow found itself lodged in his calf. He groaned irritably as he limped his way over to and behind a large support beam, finally dropping to one knee to check the extent of the damage. Micaiah and Laura took a knee on either side of him, both waiting in case they were needed.

Nolan said nothing as he inspected the wound, ultimately taking a tough guy approach to removing the arrow from its resting place. He wasn't able to suppress the cry of pain the followed and he had to grit his teeth as he tried to get feeling back into his leg. Laura immediately had her staff hovering over the wound and healing it, leaving the pain no more than an irritating throbing sensation Nolan felt as he stood and pressed down on his right leg.

"Can you fight?" Edward asked at last, breaking the heavy silence.

Micaiah interjected, "Not with that kind of wound he can't. Nolan will stay back with Leonardo and watch our backs. I'll worry about what's coming this way."

Nolan's eyes dropped to the ground as he sighed, "Micaiah, please. You can't --"

"-- I have to. I can't let everyone else fight these battles for me, Nolan. I'm the leader of this group, and it will do none of us any good if I become a figurehead that's needed only for her powers." Not leaving any room for debate, Micaiah climbed to her feet and turned to face down the hallway, "Edward, stick to me. Leonardo, support Nolan and make sure the archers on the third floor can't reach us. We need to stay in their blind spots."

Leonardo nodded as he draped an arm over Nolan's shoulders, "Then we should hug this side of the hallway."

As they went on their way hugging the wall, several stops were made to investigate the various rooms lining the hallway's left side. Rooms ranged from simple bedrooms with living conditions comparable only to a holding cell to rooms resembling actual holding cells, complete with the musky scent of liquor and various other incorrigible smells, along with the mold growing not only in the corners but also along much of the walls. The only thing remotely liveable about such rooms was the small cot in the corner of the room.

"These rooms..." Micaiah started, at a rare loss for words.

"These must be holding rooms for prisoners they deem to need further punishment than normal imprisonment," Nolan offered, stunned.

"Like us," Leonardo added.

Micaiah nodded and closed the door to the room she'd been investigating, taking a few steps onward and checking the next room. Edward leaned against the railing that overlooked the first floor, eyes shifting from the floor below to Micaiah and then back again, "I didn't think oppression would be so strong in a small place like this. Its just --"

"-- Kya!" Micaiah cried out as she jumped to the side, a sword coming down on the place where she'd just been standing. She scrambled to dodge as the swordsman swung at her again, the second slash narrowly grazing her arm. Edward charged in and blocked the third swing with his sword, gritting his teeth when the swordsman dug his heels in and prevented Edward from gaining any ground over him. Micaiah coughed as she fought to regain her breath, managing a small smile Edward's way as she said, "T-t-thank you, Edward."

Edward nodded his acknowledgment as he too dug his heels into the ground, preparing for what was shaping up to be a long deadlock. Their deadlock met a swift end as Leonardo released Nolan long enough to fire an arrow at the swordsman; the pain spreading through the man's leg provided Edward with the opportunity to finish him off. He groaned painfully as he wiped the blood from his blade, looking from side to side to make sure there was nobody else. "Was he the only one in there, Micaiah?"

Micaiah nodded, "He must have been a thief, because he didn't seem to be working with the soldiers and he was raiding that room for goods, from what it looked like." As the group continued on, Edward made sure he was the one who opened – by means of a kick – the doors, just in case there were more thieves lying in wait. By the time they'd reached the stairs extending up toward the third floor there had only been one other instance involving a thief, which had been swiftly resolved when Leonardo lodged an arrow into the thief's forehead.

While the group took a break to recuperate, Nolan rested himself against the railing and stretched his leg out to the side, sighing contently at the relief the relaxation brought to his leg. His head fell back against the railing and his eyes drifted close, and his new calm went undisturbed except for the...

"There they are! Get them!"

"General Jarod said that taking them out takes priority over saving Captain Zaitan! Charge!"

His eyes snapped open and he whipped his head around to watch the doorway as a unit of soldiers charged in. He was spotted immediately, and one – presumably the unit leader – pointed to him while speaking in a hushed voice to the others. After a moment they charged straight for the wall below where Nolan stood, flinging themselves toward the railing. Several managed to get a grip on the first try, climbing their way until their feet rested on the ground on the opposite side of the railing. Nolan took out the first carefully – his leg ached terribly still – as he was climbing over, but the next one was over the railing and had his lance poised to strike before Nolan could steady himself for another attack.

"Guh!" in a blinding flash blood began to spray forth from the soldier's neck and he crumpled to the ground, and Sothe stood in his place. Nodding to eachother the two continued to fight off the soldiers as they tried to climb up, joined soon by Leonardo and Micaiah who used their ranged weaponry to hit men climbing that were out of the range of the two close ranged fighters.

As soon as the unit had been wiped out, Micaiah said, "If the troops outside know we're here, it won't be long before more men arrive. Leonardo and Nolan should stay here and make sure they're taken care of; close and lock the doors at the top of the stairs to ensure this is their only route. Sothe is here now, so the rest of us won't be shorthanded going onward."

"Micaiah..." Sothe started, uncharacteristically in awe of his friend.

"We've got a fine leader in the making here, Sothe," Nolan grinned, nodding toward Micaiah. "Don't baby her so much. I would have said the same thing; she's thinkin' right."

There was a long pause before Sothe spoke, shutting his eyes tightly to will away his worries. When they opened again, he said, "You're right, Nolan." Micaiah smiled victoriously, and the rest of the group nodded. "Lets go, Micaiah."

* * *

"Ike! Gatrie's armor just cracked; we can't hold our position much longer!" Boyd cried, pulling hard on his axe to remove it from the latest addition to the growing pile of corpses.

Ike grimaced; this was most certainly _not_ a good thing. He wracked his brain for a long moment, ultimately getting nothing but a headache in return. With a groan, he said, "Soren?"

Soren pondered the matter for a brief moment before he nodded to himself, satisfied, "Boyd, how long can Gatrie hold out?"

Boyd didn't respond immediately, but he was brought out of his musings quickly enough as the sound of steel smacking harmlessly against Gatrie's armor was answer enough, "Long enough. Why?"

"Oscar, Titania, wait here. The rest of us will pull back to the throne room; in five minutes, you two will take Gatrie and Boyd and retreat as well."

It took only a couple minutes for Mist and Mia to alert Rolf and Shinon, and then the mercenaries – save for the four unlucky defenders – were on their way. They paused for nothing in their haste, so hasty in fact that several nearly tripped on one occasion or another. When they reached the throne room they didn't bother closing the door, and soon enough Titania and Oscar – plus their additional luggage – charged into the room, dropping from their horses and shutting the doors, locking them together securely.

"They weren't expecting as strong a resistance as what we've put up, so it will be some time before they breach those doors," Soren explained, inner machinations roaring to life as plan after plan formulated itself in his mind. "Boyd, find some spare material and try to do a patchwork job on Gatrie's armor; Mist will help if necessary. Oscar, Titania, stay at the doors and take defensive stances just in case. Ike..."

"Sit on the throne and be a good commander? I don't think so." Ike frowned, lowering his sword from his shoulder and holding it in ready-to-strike position, "I'll be taking Oscar's place at the defense. Oscar, you help Mia search through our supplies. Find anything that you can use to make food quickly; now is not the time for eating, but we've been fighting for well over two hours."

Oscar nodded and ran over to the supplies that had been removed from the carts and spread out in one of the room's far corners, Mia hot on his heels to help. Ike took a seat against the wall right beside the door, sword strewn across his lap. Rolf and Shinon sat on either side of the door; Rolf next to Ike and Shinon next to Titania, waiting in a similar fashion for the inevitable.

Outside the door, Geoffrey was overseeing the arduous task of breaking down the large doors that seperated their large force from the Greil Mercenaries. Geoffrey himself happened to be cursing whatever he could as he watched his men take a lesson in futility, striking down upon the doors without any success. The only attacks actually making a dent in the surprisingly thick doors were the axes, but even they failed to do any extensive damage.

"Commander, our attempts to break down the door are futile! We should retreat from the fort and regroup," Kieran sighed, running a hand through his unruly hair as he tightened his grip on his axe, his muscles tensing. His eyes were glazed over with exhaustion, a sight not uncommon amongst the Royal Knights after their unexpectedly long siege after a long march. Troops had been tired to begin with, but their movements had since grown sluggish and protests to the continued fighting had become commonplace. It had grown to the point where troops furthest from the front had collapsed to the ground, allowing sleep to claim their weary bodies.

And, in short, Geoffrey was jealous of them.

"Retreat isn't an option. Her Majesty has made it clear that leaving the Greil Mercenaries be is an insult to nobility of the Kingdom of Crimea. As the Royal Knights, upholding the honor of Her Majesty and her kingdom's nobility fall upon us," Geoffrey's eyes betrayed the conviction his words held; the glimmer they typically held was lost, and Kieran was certain it wasn't because of his exhaustion. His lips were uncontrollably bent downwards into a frown, completing the displeased look Kieran had been hoping to see on the face of his superior.

"Commander, you know as well as I that that is not the will of Her Majesty! The nobles are just too stuck up to let Sir Ike get away with his disdain toward nobility. And the reasons for this are far too shady! We shouldn't be hunting down the man who restored our kingdom on such poor grounds. Its insane!"

"Insane or _otherwise_, Kieran," Geoffrey spat, his calm slowly shattering and making way for the short temper that lay beneath. "We are in no position to question the orders we are given. If you are right, and this operation is wrong, then it is up to Her Majesty to reveal that. Until then, we need only worry about the battle."

"But Commander --"

"-- Discussion over, Kieran."

With a defeated sigh Kieran turned away, not allowing his superior to see the pained expression that crossed his face. Sure, he and Ike weren't necessarily best friends by any means, but they were close enough. And Kieran – ever the loyal Crimean knight – owed the blue haired mercenary far more than most would acknowledge. Not only had said mercenary recovered their kingdom three years ago, but he had also provided sanctuary for its queen for an entire year, sticking his neck out to make sure she remained safe! Not even their Queen realized just how much Sir Ike had done for their kingdom.

And now that same Sir Ike was being hunted like a rat over issues of petty noble squables. Though Kieran doubted that was all there was to it.

"Commander!" A soldier ran forth from amidst the mass of soldiers before Geoffrey and his auburn haired second commander, bowing low before them. "We've made a large hole in the door; it can fit maybe two soldiers at a time. Your orders?"

Geoffrey said nothing as he strode up to the large door, inspecting the hole. Indeed, a large hole – more than four feet in length and a foot wide – had been made diagonally into the door. The soldier had exaggerated a bit; it's shape allowed only one at a time, and with the speed at which the Greil Mercenaries moved it would be suicide to send in one after the other. With a grunt Geoffrey swung his own large, far more refined lance at the door. The sheer force made an ear-splitting cracking noise as his lance dug its way into the door, spreading the gap by another half-foot.

Ike stood and brought his sword to the ready as soon as the cracking noise reached his ears, and the first of the soldiers fell to Ike's large sword before he had his second leg through the large crack. The one climbing in after cried out and fell backwards as Titania swung an axe downward into his chest, pulling her axe back with little effort and tossing it aside in favor of a much large poleaxe.

"Rolf, Shinon, fire through the crack! Don't let them breach it too far!" Ike hollered, his voice rendered nearly mute over the resounding footsteps on the opposite side of the door. The archers nodded and notched arrows, firing them into the faces of the two unfortunate replacements for those Ike and Titania had taken out. They prepared a second arrow each and opened fire, taking out two soldiers further back, and then two more climbing through the crack. Meanwhile, Ike and Titania made sure anyone climbing through the crack were taken out so that Rolf and Shinon had a clear shot at those further back.

"Commander! Our forces are having trouble breaking through!"

Geoffrey's patience – which happened to be as fragile as his temper once his calm was shattered – was coming to it's last threads by that point, and he subsequently barked, "Make removing the lock they set in place priority! If the door is opened fully, it's over!" Such an order was made out of nerve wracking desperation, many realized, but the obligation to obey was strong, and even a suicidal order was to be followed without question.

And suicidal it was. With their focus not on the mercenaries but rather on the lovely lock that was so close and yet so far, any who came close to it were cut down immediately. By the time the immediate casualties had reached twenty, Kieran had decided enough was enough, "By my authority as second commander, everyone fall back from the wall!"

Geoffrey cast a wary glance at his second commander, "I outrank you."

"Commander, our orders were to eliminate Sir Ike and the Greil Mercenaries. How we do so is up to us. Now, we will continue to take far more casualties than necessary if we continue to fight as we are, so we owe it to Sir Ike to at least meet with them on equal terms."

Geoffrey really couldn't dispute that logic, "Very well. Everyone, fall back! Kieran, you and I will meet with Sir Ike. Marcia will come with as a bodyguard. Everyone else, follow Makalov and Astrid and camp outside the walls."

Ike seemed to have heard them, because as soon as the soldiers were away the door was unlocked and slowly opened, revealing equally battle weary warriors for both sides to see – and fresh food behind Ike. Kieran abandoned his knightly exterior at the sight of it, all but drooling as he said, "... May we?"

Ike crossed his arms over his chest, glaring, "You are our enemy, Geoffrey --"

"-- Commander Geoffrey," Kieran corrected.

Ike stared at Kieran for a moment, "... Geoffrey. Now, we may speak as equals, but we will not share provisions with an enemy."

Despite Kieran's vehement – and slightly pathetic – protests, Geoffrey said, "That is understandable, Sir Ike."

The three of them followed Ike toward two dusty couches by an unlit fire where they took a seat, and across from them sat Ike, Soren and Titania. The rest of the mercenaries settled in to eat a fair distance away, giving the six their privacy for negotiations. Geoffrey started things off, saying, "Sir Ike, Kieran has insisted that we hear your side of the present circumstances before anything else. May you?"

Ike nodded, "The nobility have probably been lying to further their own goals. What have you been told?"

Geoffrey frowned, "We've been told that you openly performed acts of treason against Her Majesty, carrying out such acts as senseless murder of Crimean soldiers and murdering messengers."

Ike snorted, "Soren, looks like we can't expect much from Crimea's loyal servants."

Kieran glared indignantly, "Meaning?"

"We were visited by agents of Duke Felirae," Soren answered, returning the auburn haired knight's glare two-fold. "They took to rather forceful actions to get us to return to the Crimean Court."

Geoffrey nodded, "And I take it you said no?"

Titania nodded in kind, "In all due respect, the Greil Mercenaries are not suited for the life of nobility. Nobles have always been something Ike has frowned upon, and even now his opinion remains unchanged."

"And now you see why," Ike added disdainfully.

"Why was Duke Felirae trying to convince you to return?" Marcia asked, her curiosity piqued.

Soren answered, "If we returned under his terms, we would be lapdogs to his will. It is our belief – and this is not simple speculation – that Duke Felirae is planning a rebellion, and his desire to have us return was so he could manipulate us into further securing his own power. As criticized as her rule is, Queen Elincia still has more support than any of the nobles do on their own. Unless they were to form a coalition and usurp the throne, she could suppress a rebellion of any one of them alone."

Everyone fell silent as Soren's harsh words settled in. Geoffrey couldn't deny the possible truth in the words that were being spoken, and that was both refreshing and worrysome to him. At last, he said, "So you are not in the wrong?"

Ike shook his head, "We killed several soldiers, but most of the soldiers we fought at our fort were simply wounded. And it was self-defense, as well."

Kieran jumped to his feet like a delighted kid on Christmas morn', "Commander, they're innocent! We can stop the fighting!"

Geoffrey shook his head, his eyes closing, "Even if what you say is true, Sir Ike, our orders were to eliminate you. We can't return home having not done so."

Soren interjected immediately, "I have an idea."

Kieran grinned at Soren, "Yes?"

"Return to Melior and tell them that we were killed in the battle here. We will carry on our route to Daein and avoid detection, and then you can investigate Duke Felirae."

Geoffrey nodded at once, "That would work. You do know the importance in remaining undetected though? You wouldn't be able to stop anywhere for supplies, and you'd have to stay where there are no inhabitants."

Soren thought for a moment before saying, "Send a message to the troops garrisoned at any base on the road from here to the Great Bridge, telling them that we've been taken out and that they are to return to the capital to await further orders. If you do that, we can get to the border in a few days' time, and be safely in Daein territory in four."

Geoffrey turned to Kieran, "Prepare paper and messengers at once." He turned to face Ike again, frowning, "I am terribly sorry for all of this, Sir. Can we offer you refuge for the night, or..."

Soren cut him off saying, "Our survival must be kept secret from even your knights. We will escape out the east passageway in two hours' time; make sure your knights are in a position where we won't be seen making our escape."

"Of course."

Titania smiled at Geoffrey as they both stood, extending her hand, "Thank you, Sir Geoffrey. For everything."

"Think nothing of it. We serve only the will of the Kingdom of Crimea, and the Duke of Felirae is our enemy in this matter," Geoffrey answered, taking her hand and giving it a firm shake. "And once again, Sir Ike, we are sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Ike responded as he stood, waving a dismissive hand before crossing both over his chest.

Geoffrey's hand left Titania's and extended toward Ike. Ike returned the offer with a nod, and Geoffrey said, "Then prepare to depart, Sir Ike. The men will grow suspicious if we don't act normally."

"We will, Geoffrey."

* * *

Micaiah collapsed against a tall oak tree, her back sliding along its length until she finally settled onto the ground, sighing in pure bliss at the tingling sensation the brief relaxation brought her. Sothe stood over her smirking, looking down at her with amusement written over his face. Micaiah looked up at him and raised an eyebrow, saying, "Is there something...?" she rubbed furiously at her face before returning her eyes to his, only to find they hadn't lost the amused glint. "... What?"

"Nothing," he said nonchalantly, and if he were any less a serious person Micaiah would have expected to hear an innocent whistle following close behind. He turned on his heel, eyes scanning the gathered group of thieves in the forest outskirts, and after a moment he said, "Is everyone accounted for?"

Micaiah's eyes scanned the group as well; sure enough, one was missing. Her eyes scanned the group twice more before it finally hit her, and with a gasp she said, "Laura! But..." she paused for a moment, thinking. "She was with me as we made our escape..."

Sothe seemed far less concerned, "We'll split up and search for her. We shouldn't take too long, with luck. Micaiah, you'll come with me."

Micaiah shook her head, "It will take less time if we all search individually."

"But..."

Micaiah gave Sothe a glare, "But nothing. I don't need you babying me all the time, Sothe!" When he said nothing, she continued, "We'll meet at Kunu Swamp in three marks' time. Is that okay then, Sothe?" and a colder glare for good measure.

Knowing he'd been beat, Sothe sighed dejectedly, "... Fine."

And so, when Micaiah was running down a pathway without any support, a nagging feeling that something was wrong growing stronger and stronger in the pit of her stomach, she truly felt like a fool. She came to a stop for a minute, looking around her for a moment before continuing on. She stopped every few steps to repeat the process, and no matter how much she did it the feeling of impending dread never went away. "Somebody is nearby, Yune, I know it..."

She stopped in mid-step as a voice said, "So you could sense me, huh?" Jarod stepped out from behind a tree with Laura in front of him, one arm wrapped around her torso and one holding a knife to her throat. "You are worthy of your reputation as the Silver-Haired Maiden, it would seem."

Micaiah gasped, "Laura!" Micaiah gritted her teeth, glaring despite the futility, "I knew you'd be the one to have taken her."

"And you're as clever as I expected; impressive, though this particular ruse wasn't exactly intricate." He took a step closer to Micaiah and she took a step back, her glare faltering into a look of concern for a flickering moment. "And you even came alone," he continued, smirking. "How very thoughtful – albeit foolish – of you. Was it to give those friends of your's a chance to escape? Pity it left you completely helpless, my dear."

Micaiah ignored his taunt, "Let Laura go!"

Jarod laughed dryly, "Now, you know I can't do that. She's a valuable hostage, after all." He reached a finger forward and stroked Micaiah's cheek, smirking as she flinched away from his touch. "As are you, Silver-Haired Maiden. Alder, come on out. We don't need her getting the idea that she can actually escape."

As Micaiah looked around, all possible routes of escape were lost as soldiers came pouring in from all sides, numbering well over twenty in all with Alder at the head. Knowing all hope of escape was lost – not that she'd had such thoughts to begin with – Micaiah shook her arm, watching as Yune flew from it's perch on her shoulder and high into the sky, "Go, Yune! Escape!"

"Damned bird," Jarod spat, looking to the sky for a brief moment. "Good ridance; I was growing irritated of it's presence." Jarod nodded to Alder who walked forward, grabbing Micaiah's arms and placing them behind her back, restraining her. "Now then, Silver-Haired Maiden, it's back to the castle with you. And as long as we have you, your little friends matter not."

Micaiah certainly had a bad feeling about it all, and it wasn't just from the threat of imminent death.

* * *

There's chapter three! Happy reading (I have nothing else to say, really)?


	4. A Faint Light

Okay, so somebody saw fit to complain about Elincia's decision to send the Royal Knights to kill the Greil Mercenaries. I can see why this would seem uncharacteristic of her, but that's the whole point. The nobles would be breathing down her neck – particularly Ludveck – to act in the better interest of Crimea. As Queen, its her obligation to do so despite her personal feelings on the matter. So thats how that happened, in case anyone else was wondering.

While we're on the topic of replying to reviewers – although this is a topic I had hoped not to return to – I will respond to Dawn's Shadow and the lovely review you offered. I agree completely that both of those pairings are platonic – and in neither case will I dispute that. And yes, PoR and RD are severely lacking in terms of any real pairings. But the relationship between Ike and Micaiah (starting from a hatred on Micaiah's part to a questionable friendship in the end – exactly where they stand is unclear I think) leaves room for a possible pairing with the extra room for character development in fanfiction.

And so, until such a time when someone gives concrete evidence that an IkexMicaiah pairing is a failed one, my plans for a (potentitally crack, depending on your opinion) pairing between them remain. And on that note, whether or not they will be a doomed-from-the-start pairing or not is unknown; I personally think there's logical hope of sparing them from that fate, especially since a novelization leaves far more room for character development, as I've noted on several occasions.

And thank you to everyone else who has reviewed so far; like with my other fic, I wasn't expecting nearly as much feedback as I've gotten.

* * *

_The Crimean Royal Court has fallen into the palm of Duke Felirae's hand, making Queen Elincia little more than a pawn as he forces her hand into exterminating the Greil Mercenaries. His decisions are made without regard for human life, careless of what might be lost to gain what he wants. And so it is little surprise that he is not concerned when the Royal Knights return to the capital with many wounded and more dead. The only good news to be had was one that crushed Queen Elincia._

_The Greil Mercenaries are declared dead, and their flight toward neighbouring Daein is simplified by Geoffrey's assistance in removing troops from patrolling stations along their route. They march without concern day and night, hindered only by the downpour of rain that threatens to wash away the whole of Crimea. They reach the outskirts of the small town of Buro to resupply before taking on the dangerous task of crossing into Daein territory, where there is sure to be Crimean patrols despite their alliance with Begnion._

_Meanwhile, the Dawn Brigade is faced with a far more dire situation. Without the Silver-Haired Maiden they are without any recognizable leadership and the role instead falls upon senior members Sothe and Nolan. Determined to free their leader the small group marches on the prison in the undermanned fortress of Glaive, caring not for the still overwhelming odds they were to face._

* * *

The exterior of the Glaive Prison was no more luxurious than a worn out and poorly kept courtyard. Trees lined either side of a securely locked prison door, and a large stone wall divided the many sections of the prison's outer areas. The ground – made of a stone identical to what the walls were composed of – was cracked and split in many places, adding to the entire feel that the place was little more than a lower end prison run by people who cared as little for its maintenance as they did for its inhabitants.

And that was the honest truth at the Glaive Prison.

For his part, Edward was more than a little intimidated by the sheer size of the prison, even from his place far away from the courtyard-like area, in an entirely different section altogether. The place was at least four floors full of prisoners, an exterior that looked nothing short of menacing, and a poorly timed storm cloud overhead made it all seem overwhelming. Teeth chattering as he tried to keep his cool, Edward pointed toward the prison, saying, "We're... going to fight _there_?"

Nolan laughed slightly, "Sothe is already in there. Before long he'll have Micaiah; then all we need to do is make sure we aren't cut down by the guards as we make our escape. You make it sound so much worse than it is!"

Edward grimaced, "Your honesty doesn't make it sound any better."

Nolan shook his head, "I thought you wanted to become stronger? Become someone we could depend on? Right now you hardly seem like someone I feel safe entrusting with me life." His eyes scanned from side to side, and at last he said, "Perhaps Leonardo..."

Edward glared menacingly at Nolan, "I can protect everyone, and I'll prove it! Micaiah and Sothe will get out here, and I'll make sure we get to safety!"

The walk from then on was quiet. Nolan knew better than to cross Edward in his current mood, Edward was content in his anger-induced silence and Leonardo wanted nothing more than to stay out of their quarrel. Anyone in the Dawn Brigade knew that one of their fights could only be resolved by the timely intervening of Micaiah – who the group was currently lacking – and that otherwise their arguments were something to avoid like the plague.

It wasn't that their arguments were particularly heated – in fact, Nolan was one of the most calm members of the group, though the same couldn't be said for Edward. But their arguments always stemmed from a rather touchy subject that could quickly escalate into something worse with a little urging. Edward's determination to not be a liability was strong indeed and Nolan taking shots at that, be it through casual teasing or him suggesting an idea in which Edward's role was lacking, sparked many an argument between the two. And the last thing anyone wanted was to add more fuel to that delicate fire.

"Hey, you." Nolan looked up from the ground, coming to a sudden halt – inadvertently resulting in Edward walking into his back – as his eyes rested on a soldier. The soldier was distinguishable immediately by the midnight blue armor rather than the common red the Begnion soldiers donned, and rather than the short cut hair that failed to show itself through their helmets this soldiers had strands of lime green hair falling over his forehead, poorly complimenting his dark eyes. His eyes were narrowed into a hardened stare, but there was an evident lack of any malice in them, much to Nolan's surprise.

Acting on the assumption that this soldier wouldn't gouge his eyes out for speaking freely, Nolan responded with a simple, "Yes?" and a curiously raised eyebrow.

As the soldier scowled Nolan wondered for a fleeting moment if he'd misread the man, but the slight chuckle that followed cast aside his worries. The soldier said, "Most people would be more conscious of how they speak in front of Begnion soldiers."

Nolan chuckled in turn, "Most Begnion soldiers would have put me on the end of their lance by now. I can see you have no desire to uphold your empire's tyrrany."

"Begnion isn't my home," the soldier responded immediately. "Now, I take it you're here because of that silver haired woman?"

Nolan gaped, "How did you..."

"I see," the soldier nodded to himself, seemingly ignoring Nolan altogether. "But Laura was imprisoned with her. Follow me." He pulled a set of keys from his side and unlocked the gate behind him. He walked through to the other side and stood to the side to allow the group passage, closing the gate again before passing in front of them and taking the lead.

He stopped suddenly, pointing toward a metal door with trees lining either side of it – almost as if the door were a throne of some sort and the trees were servants, in a strange way. He said, "Your friends should be coming from there. Save Laura for me, will you?" and with that the soldier was gone without another word, leaving Nolan, Edward and Leonardo wondering just why he was aiding them in the first place.

They didn't have long to dwell on it as clearly the soldier's timing was impeccable; they hadn't been standing there for more than a minute before the metal door burst open, revealing the running figure of Sothe, his knives secure at his sides and a large bag over his shoulder. Micaiah and Laura followed, and then came three others – one donning a brown cloak that hid all but few strands of dark green hair, a woman wearing a pink robe of some sort that failed miserably to hide her face and her long black hair, and a young girl. The young girl was by far the most under-dressed - a pale green tunic shirt fit loosely to her frail upper body, leaving her arms bare. Her hair was unrestricted by any hood, a long mane of violet hair falling as low as her upper back, complimenting her eyes that were identical except for the darker shade of violet they held. A miniskirt the same color as her eyes went as low as the end of her hips, leaving the remainder of her legs bare save for the white platform boots on her feet.

Nolan said the first thing that registered itself in his mind, "Sothe, come on! This way!"

Micaiah looked over at them, smiling brightly as she turned to run toward them, not slowing down. When she'd reached them she doubled over, hands on her knees as she panted – no matter how much she found herself running, the odds of her growing used to it were low. "How... did you... guys... get here so fast?" she panted before breaking out into a fit of coughs, managing the strength to straighten herself out afterwards. Sothe came up beside her and eased his hands onto her shoulders as she fought to regain her breath, nodding in Nolan's direction in silent greeting.

Nolan nodded in kind before saying, "We were planning to attack from the back because we noticed it was relatively unguarded – there was only one man guarding there. But strangely enough, he let us in."

Edward nodded before adding, "Yeah, it was weird. He led us here, asking us to save Laura." Laura, who had just reached the group, raised an eyebrow as she heard that.

"How odd... why would a Begnion soldier mention me?"

Unfortunately, the loud shuffling of feet reminded them all too abruptly that they were in no position to be socializing. In fact, the time for running had past – their every escape route was blocked off securely by Begnion soldiers. Nolan chuckled lightly as he took in the sight, saying, "Figures we wouldn't be able to avoid a battle. Luck sure does love Begnion, doesn't it?"

Micaiah sighed, "It would appear so. The odds aren't looking good, either."

Sothe pivoted from his place at her side to stand in front of her, reaching into the bag slung over his shoulder. After a moment he pulled out a tome and pushed it into her hands as he said, "Our odds would be better if we were armed." He then turned toward Laura who was similarly unarmed and handed her a staff, saying, "And a healer is much better off with a staff."

The violet haired girl stepped forward, her face showing the very definition of timid, "S-Sothe... I can... fight too. Can you hand me that..." Her stomach cut her off with a rather large growl but she ignored it, repeating herself, "Can you hand me that tome?"

Sothe fished out the last of the bag's contents and tossed it aside, looking at the tome he held quizzically, "Ilyana, you can use light magic too?"

Micaiah stifled a laugh as she held out the tome she held, referring to the symbols on the hard cover of the tomes, "Sothe, thats a tome of lightning magic, not light."

Sothe shuffled his feet in place, rubbing at his head sheepishly, "... It is?"

Micaiah was unable to stifle her laughter for a second time. She ignored the odd glances everyone gave her as she rode out the laughter, finally managing to gasp out, "I give up. Is it really that hard to tell?"

Sothe turned away as his cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment, throwing his hands up defensively, "They all look the same to me, Micaiah!" She managed to keep her laughter under control that time, and as soon as he was certain he was safe Sothe turned toward Ilyana, handing her the tome he still held, "If you can use it, go for it. Feels like back in the days of the war, huh?"

Ilyana nodded animatedly, smiling slightly, "Yes, it does... thank you Sothe." Her stomach growled loudly again and everyone but Sothe raised a curious eyebrow whereas Sothe gave off a quiet chuckle, rubbing at his arms absent-mindedly. Ilyana, free of her stomach's interruptions, continued, "I don't want to fight, but at least I'll fight with a familiar face..."

Micaiah wasn't nearly as calm as Sothe was about the matter, waving a hand out in front of her, "You don't have to fight if you don't want to, Ilyana." She pursed her lips, staring down the other girl for a moment before she continued, "You do look a little woozy, now that I think about it. Are you okay?"

The woman wearing the pink robe chuckled, "You don't need to worry about that. Its how she always is."

Micaiah's brows furrowed, "But Aimee..."

Ilyana's eyes showed a fierce determination – as fierce a determination as her eyes could put up in her underfed state, anyway – as she intervened, "No, I... I want to fight. They... made me very angry. The food here was terrible, and they... they gave us hardly any..." She gripped tightly onto the tome, glaring past Micaiah at the wall distantly behind her, "I... I will have vengeance."

"She seems to take food seriously... almost too seriously. Interesting," Micaiah noted, intrigued.

"She's always been like this," Sothe explained with a chuckle.

"And what about you?" Micaiah asked, nodding toward Aimee. "You don't fight, and..."

The cloaked man pulled Aimee off to the side, saying, "Worry not Micaiah. We'll slip off somewhere while you fight. I am sorry to impose."

"It is quite alright, Kurth," she called after him. "May the goddess watch over you," she added quietly, almost as if in prayer.

"Hey, Micaiah?" Sothe shook her shoulder as he pointed toward the soldiers that were now advancing on them, and he added, "Fight now, talk later?"

They didn't really have a choice with the soldiers surrounding them, unfortunately.

* * *

The Greil Mercenaries' second crossing of the Great Bridge was a far more peaceful one than their last.

Their first crossing was one full of bloodshed, fighting every step of the way to break through the Daein forces on the border, led by their long time enemy General Petrine. The tactical planning of their mastermind tactician Soren coupled with the surprisingly effective leadership of their commander General Ike had ultimately led them to yet another victory, ending in a complete routing of Daein forces and the death of the first of Daein's Four Riders. Casualties on their side had been limited to the several casualties their airborne forces had taken from the defensive weaponry set in place by Daein.

This time however, was quite different. There wasn't line after line of Daein forces with their shields pushed outward in an attempt to ward off the crossing Crimean Liberation Army. There weren't large arrows soaring through the air, threatening to impale them with it's overwhelming size. There were no pitfalls just waiting to be stepped on, hindering their movements or outright killing them. There was just a warm breeze caused from the sea below them and the small issue of the several craters that Crimea hadn't taken the effort to repair yet. That small annoyance aside, none could deny their preference of this crossing.

"Soren, you said we were meeting someone here?" Ike asked, giving his tactician a sideways glance as they walked on. Behind the two of them were Oscar and Titania, their horses spent and being pulled along beside them by the reins. Rolf and Mist were seated atop them asleep, lacking the sheer willpower that the older members of the Greil Mercenaries had. Shinon and Mia were on the opposite side of each horse and Rhys and Gatrie were behind the horses, making something resembling a defensive formation around the horses and those sleeping atop them.

"Yes, they should be waiting for us at the opposite side of the bridge," Soren responded with a nod. "They pay well too. Over thirty thousand for this job."

"They have a job for us?" Ike raised an eyebrow, curious.

"When I arranged this I asked that they had a job for us so we weren't doing nothing here." Ike nodded in understanding, "As necessary as hiding out here is, the mercenaries will lose resolve if we aren't making money like we're supposed to. As for what the job is, your guess is as good as mine."

The walk continued on in silence, pausing only briefly around noon for some food, courtesy of Oscar as per usual. Rolf and Mist awoke almost immediately to the smell of food much to the amusement of the rest of the mercenaries, and the look on Rolf's face as they awoke was just as amusing – drool pooling at the corner of his mouth and eyes wide with an eagerness last seen at mealtime during the war.

"Here you go," Oscar handed Rolf a bowl filled to the brim with some kind of soup that Rolf couldn't quite identify – Oscar's food often had the tendency to have that atrocious-look-despite-its-taste appeal to it. Oscar's broad and out of place smile was there as usual, and Rolf offered a small gracious smile before ravenously devouring the contents of his bowl, thankful they had Soren there for the embarrassing task of using his talents in fire magic to heat the soup he was now eating. Mist laughed rather loudly when she saw more of it around his mouth than in it and Rolf stuck his tongue out at her childishly, blowing a raspberry. It was a light hearted moment that nobody could be annoyed with, given the otherwise seriousness of their situation. Rolf became the center of attention throughout the entire meal, trying his best to tell jokes – although jokes said often ended up being centered around him.

As soon as they had finished and packed away what Oscar had taken out, they were off again. The opposite end of the bridge had long since stopped being a distant destination – the small signs of an encampment at the end had been visible for quite some time. They managed to reach the end of the bridge within an hour's time from then, finding the camp empty but a small fire still blazing in the makeshift pit in the center. The mercenaries sat around the fire and Soren shot a small fireball at it to renew its strength - all were eager for the warmth that the small fire provided.

"Ike, you've grown man! Its been a while." All eyes turned toward the edge of a small forest where a young man no older than eighteen stood, smirking. An orange cloak covered his upper body well with cloth wrapping around the parts of his upper arms and stomach that the undersized cloak failed to cover. His cloak complimented his bright red hair and his piercing red, almost demonic looking eyes that, in conjunction with the smirk on his face, gave him a quite devilish appearance. His lower body was covered by brown cargo shorts and brown boots with the same cloth poking out from his boots and wrapping around his calf. Lastly was the leather gloves with green fingers over his hands, hiding the callused hands that lay beneath.

"Tormod!" Ike was up with a start, throwing his arm out to clasp his hand to Tormod's gloved hand as the boy approached, both grinning widely. "I knew Soren contacted someone, but I didn't expect it to be you!"

Tormod nodded, grin in place, "Yeah, well, I've been in Begnion trying to dig up information about whats going on between Empress Sanaki and Senator Numida, the guy running the show here in Daein. Turns out he's responsible for Daein's state, and I'm hesitant to believe Sanaki is aware of that." Ike nodded in understanding, and Tormod continued, "So when I heard that you guys were on the run to Daein, I figured that you'd be able to lend me a hand."

"What with?"

"See, I've been trying to help the Daein citizens however I can. But constantly running between here and Sienne makes that rather difficult. So I was hoping I could hire you guys to do that for me," Tormod explained, waving his arms in emphasis as he went.

"Sure thing. What should we do?" Tormod waved a hand and a girl stepped out from behind a tree, holding what seemed to be a map in her hand. The most noticeable feature on her body were the large black wings protruding from her back, spread wide. She wore a red sleeveless shirt that tied together around her neck, leaving a golded ring just below her neck. Raven black hair – that Ike saw as an irony because the wings were most certainly Raven wings – cascaded down to her shoulders, and deep blue eyes were narrowed in what seemed to be a permanent skeptical look.

"This is Vika," Tormod stated, throwing an arm carelessly around her shoulder as she approached. "She's an assistant in my emancipation efforts in Begnion, as well as a personal assistant in many matters." Vika nodded as she handed Tormod the map, who in turn handed it to Ike, "That map points out places where oppression is at its worst here in Daein. Start with those locations, liberating those areas from the Occupation Army. You shouldn't have too much trouble."

Ike nodded, "What kind of numbers are we up against?"

Tormod tapped a finger to his cheek for a moment in thought, and then said, "Numida has made sure the majority of their forces are kept in Nevassa to be dispatched as necessary, but these places wouldn't be suffering from oppression if Begnion's hold on the area was weak." And with a reminiscent look on his face, he added, "We faced worse odds three years ago, I assure you."

Leaving the business to Ike really wasn't working for Soren anymore, who looked over his shoulder and said, "You told me nothing about the danger we'd be facing. Another ten thousand is perfectly reasonable, given the situation."

Tormod laughed loudly at that, "Funding isn't a problem for me, guys. Another ten thousand is fine, so long as you do you're job."

Ike smirked, "We always do."

Tormod nodded, "You guys do great work. Haven't heard a single instance of your work being any less than fantastic in the past three years." Seeing Ike's raised eyebrow he addressed his unasked question, continuing, "I've got ways of getting information about affairs just about anywhere in Tellius. I really should thank the Ravens for their talents in slight of hand matters," with a laugh.

"How are Naesala and Tibarn anyway?" Ike asked, trying to control his laughing despite failing miserably. Hearing Ike laugh so heartily got nearly all the mercenaries' eyes on him; he'd been rather restrictive when it came to showing his emotions, after all.

"Naesala's no different. Still a deceptive king if there ever was one – he's managed to keep his ravens away from Begnion's merchant ships for a whole four months though. I found that more than a little surprising, to be honest." Ike chuckled under his breath at the joke hidden beneath the serious statement and Tormod went on, "Can't say I know how Tibarn is though. Being a model king, I suppose, because there's been no word of anything worth noting happening in Phoenicis."

Ike nodded with a reminiscent smile on his face – he and Tibarn had been quite close in the short time they were in the company of each other during the war. "Sounds like Tibarn all right."

"Yeah." A brief silence fell over the group but Tormod wasn't about to allow that, so he hastened to say, "Anyway, I've dug up some information, and your best off going to Teran to start. Begnion has set up a nice trade outpost there and has made it the places where all supplies from the capital are sent. Its heavily guarded for that reason, but its defense is solely in its soldiers – it has no natural defense whatsoever. Or structural defense for that matter; Begnion is prideful in its superiority to a fault, it would seem."

Ike nodded in agreement, "If we wipe out Begnion's hold on that area their main means of supply transport will be cut off."

"And their treatment of Daein means this would be their only means of having any considerable amount of supplies. A movement like that would suppress the majority of Begnion's military – Daeins seeking to revive their country would rise up all over the place," Soren added.

"Exactly! So basically, you take that place and Begnion's hold on this country takes a huge hit. They'd be forced to improve their treatment of the area to some extent just to survive, and that is a start to be sure." Tormod nodded to himself, pleased. "Anyway, Muarin's probably getting worried by now. Best of luck to you all, but I'd best be going."

As soon as Tormod had taken his leave – or rather, Vika had taken her leave with Tormod hanging from her talons – the mercenaries got ready to leave, crowding about Ike to await instruction. Ike stared down at the map for a moment before pointing toward the southeast, "We'll go to Teran. I hope you're all itching for a good fight, because we're going to get one."

* * *

"You! Crawl back into your cell and weep for your life, and I'll spare you." A mounted knight charged toward Micaiah, sword held high in the air as he rode. His features save for low cut brown hair and a face that could only be called disfigured were hidden by a red helmet. His teeth were clenched together almost painfully tightly in anger – more than likely due to the fact that his large numbers had been proved worthless against the Dawn Brigade's tactical fighting and use of what terrain was offered.

Micaiah smiled menacingly as one hand tightened around her light tome, the other open palmed over her head, "Don't get cocky. This isn't our first fight, and I'll make sure it isn't our last."

"Strong words for such a small person – you're bave, I'll give you that! But foolish!" He slashed vertically and a blast of wind shot from the sword and Micaiah jumped to the side, narrowly dodging the attack before unleashing her own attack, sending the tendrils of light from the palm of her hand toward the knight. He managed to draw back his steed and dodge the attack but his horse wasn't nearly as lucky, taking the full force of the attack and sending it's rider flying toward the ground. He grunted painfully as his horse collapsed on his lower legs, leaving him immobilized as a second attack from Micaiah hit home, tearing through his armor and tearing through the flesh that lay beneath.

As soon as the knight was done writhing in vain on the ground he looked up at Micaiah, eyes narrowed and his mouth crooked in a smirk, "Even if you run, scum..." he coughed loudly and blood spewed from his mouth. Weakly wiping it from around his mouth he continued, "There will be nowhere to run... Begnion's hand... reaches... all."

Micaiah smiled down at him, closing her eyes and bringing her free hand up in prayer, "Then we will sever the hand that is reaching for us. Rest in peace."

"He's the last of them?" Sothe asked, walking toward her with Nolan and Edward close behind. Leonardo was standing off to the side while Laura tended to a wound he'd taken to the arm, and the same soldier in blue was standing beside her, almost like a guard dog.

Micaiah nodded, "If there are more waiting for us out there, we don't need to worry. He seems to have been their leader."

"This sword is nice," Edward remarked randomly, grabbing the sword the knight had been holding from the ground. "A magic sword?"

Sothe looked over his shoulder at the sword, "A wind edge, it would seem. I'm surprised such a low ranking soldier had one – weapons imbued with magic are a rare find."

Edward nodded as he bent over the knight's corpse, removing the sheathe from his side and placing it on his own waist, opposite his other sheathe. Placing his new sword therein, he said, "Doesn't matter to me. Their mistakes are our gain, right?"

Nolan laughed, "Indeed. And we need everything they have to offer us, unfortunately."

Laura ran over at that moment, the soldier and Leonardo in tow, "We're ready to go. You don't mind Aran and I staying with you guys, do you?"

Micaiah shook her head hastilly, smiling, "Of course not! Your help is greatly appreciated, both of you."

Aran nodded, his expression unchanging, "I'll do whatever you ask of me."

Micaiah pondered the notion for a moment, "We should get some distance from the prison before we settle down to rest. You guard Laura – we don't want a repeat of this incident. Leonardo will stay close by as well – Sothe and Edward can stick with me. Nolan, fit yourself in where you feel needed. Alright?"

Sothe smiled slightly, patting Micaiah on the shoulder, "You're growing up fast – faster than I'd thought possible."

Micaiah nodded, her stone-like gaze fixed on the road ahead as they began walking, "I have to be, Sothe. I'm the leader of this group, and you know I can't continue relying on you and Nolan. I need to become a leader on my own."

"I know, Micaiah. Just don't overwork yourself; a good leader is worthless if she's too spent to lead us."

Micaiah sighed despairingly, "I know. But we can't dwell on that now, can we?"

Sothe gave Micaiah a sympathizing glance before hanging his head, "I can't protect you from that, can I?"

Micaiah reached up and pressed her hand to Sothe's shoulder, "I'm grateful, Sothe, but no. We each have to do what we need to do, and I can't keep looking to you to do my job for me."

Sothe's hand covered Micaiah's considerably smaller one as he looked down at her, "Yes, I know. But I'll always be here, you know that right? I'm not going anywhere."

"Of course. I don't know where I'd be without you, Sothe," Micaiah responded, her grip on his shoulder tightening almost painfully as she brought those thoughts to mind. She truly did owe him far more than either really acknowledged. The young Sothe she had met so long ago was a distant memory to the mature, strong man that now stood by her side, guarding her with a determination far stronger than most would think possible.

"I hate to cut in on the meaningful moment between you two," Nolan put in, prying his way between the two. "Really, I do. But this isn't the time nor the place. And we've got news."

"Good or bad?" Sothe asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

"Take it as you will." With a shrug, Nolan took to explaining, "Begnion soldiers back at Glaive were talking about a curious subject – one you'll be interested in, Sothe, I'm sure."

"Oh?" Sothe pressed, intrigued.

"Yeah." Nolan took a breath – mainly to hold off for a moment, much to the chagrin of Sothe – before explaining, "Seems Crimea is going into a downward spiral as well. Rumors are that Queen Elincia and her court are falling into frequent disagreements – some rumors go so far as to state that some of the nobles may be planning rebellion."

"And why is this a subject we need to worry ourselves with?" Sothe asked irritably.

"Easy," Nolan waved his hands frantically – he wasn't in any mood to face the extent of Sothe's uneasy emotions. "Seems one of the nobles tried to get some added muscle – tried contracting a group of mercenaries."

That had Sothe's attention, "The Greil Mercenaries?!" he exclaimed, shocked.

"Sounds right. They're the ones led by General Ike, right?"

"Yeah."

"I thought so." Nolan sighed, rubbing at his head before continuing, "They turned down the request – some say they accepted at that they're leading some rebellion in Crimea, but I seriously doubt it. The popular rumor states they have been labeled rebels in Crimea and were put to flight, hunted by Crimea's Royal Knights. They were on their way here it seems, but nearly all rumors state that they met an unfortunate end at Fort Derta."

Sothe shook his head, "General Ike wouldn't die so easily. What do the other rumors say?"

Nolan seemed to have a faraway look as he said, "If they're alive, they've already reached Daein. What they are doing here is anyone's guess – They sided with Begnion last time, so it wouldn't surprise me if they did again. I'm sure not looking forward to fighting the heroes of the war, thats for sure."

Micaiah cut in, sounding more than a little irritated, "If they're here, we'll find out eventually!"

Nolan looked over at Micaiah in shock while Sothe turned to her entirely, shuffling sideways to keep up with her as he said, "I know you don't like General Ike. Sorry about that."

"I don't hate him, Sothe. But you idolize him! And if you haven't forgotten, it is his fault our country is in this state now."

* * *

A similar thought was running through Ike's mind as he drove his sword through the gut of a Begnion soldier. It _was_ his fault. These people were on their hands and knees, starving or out and out dying from poverty – and he was completely to blame. As a mercenary, it wasn't his place to feel guilt over what happens in the wake of what he's paid to do, right? And his participation in the war was nothing more than a contract with Elincia.

But in a distant sense, Daein was as much his home as Crimea, he mused. He may have been born in Gallia and grown up in Crimea, but Daein was where his father – who's shadow he still walks in – was from. Try as he might, he couldn't take a detached approach to the plight the country was in; that problem was only made more urgent when the fact that it was his fault came to light.

Soren stood nearby, raising a quizzical eyebrow at Ike's distant expression, though he said nothing to his friend. The two continued about their business in silence, cleaving and blasting their way through the Begnion soldiers that dared stand in their way. Teran was as much a lost cause to hold as Tormod had made it out to be, after all – the city had low walls that Rolf and Shinon quickly scaled, rocky plains surrounding it that made attacking the mercenaries as they approached impossible. Not that they would have attacked; it was now late at night, and the watch only got light from the moon, and that was nowhere near enough light to see the mercenaries as they converged on the small city.

The Begnion army had been taken by complete surprise. They hadn't seen anyone until Titania and Oscar were at the south gate cutting through their guard and then assaulting the gate. By the time they'd mounted a defense the gate had fallen and Rolf and Shinon had scaled the walls, and with the other gates sealed the battle became a bloodbath. Superior fighting skill was the order of the day in such a situation – despite having only ten fighters against a defending army of nearly three hundred, which was considerable given how Begnion's soldiers were divided across Daein, the Greil Mercenaries had been quite efficient in routing the Begnion soldiers on guard.

The mercenaries now raided the small castle-like structure that acted as a palace of sorts to the defenders, wiping out whoever was on defense therein. Gatrie and Boyd stood guard at the doorway in case reinforcements arrived and Ike pressed on with the rest of the mercenaries, cutting his way through the halls until they found the last corridor before the throne room, where they now found themselves held down by what seemed to be at least fifty more soldiers. Ike headed the charge as they fought to break through but the soldiers would not be pushed back so easily, planting their shields firmly in front of them and preparing to hold their position to the end.

It was just a pity that shields couldn't protect them from painful blasts of wind or swords bigger than the shields themselves.

Mia was taking a far more original approach to the matter. Forsaking any of her knowledge of dealing with shielded foes she lunged at them and swung wildly, logic be damned. Her first swing got lucky and managed to remove a soldier's head, and the second took off the arm holding the shield for another soldier, but the third swing ended up having her stuck in place, sword dug into another soldier's shield. Oscar's spear intervened at the most opportune moment and kept her from making the small palace her grave and she pulled her sword free, resuming her logic-forsaken method of dealing with the Begnion soldiers.

Mia's erratic attacking, Ike's devastating assaults and Soren's magic all came together in a decisive attack that left the Begnion soldiers reeling for their lives within minutes. It wasn't long before they'd cut their way through, rushing toward the throne room where another small group awaited them – this group seemed to lack any form of discipline and either charged at the mercenaries or turned tail and ran. These two factors made dealing with the last of the soldiers a simple matter, and soon Ike was looking over the state of the palace – it was another place belonging to Daein that he had damaged, he noted bitterly.

"That is the last of them," Soren confirmed, standing beside Ike as he surveyed the room.

"Mia, go with Oscar to secure the supplies from the treasury, armory and kitchen. Anything we can't take with us is to be gathered together and burned," Ike ordered with a wave of the hand, moving toward the regal seat at the far end of the room and collapsing into it, sighing deeply.

Mist walked into the room shortly after and, noticing her brother's distress, said warmly, "I know you don't like it here brother, but at least the pay is good! And --"

"-- No."

"No?"

"Mist." His voice was more stern and Mist flinched, timidly walking toward her brother, eyes wide with an inquisitve fear. "This place is as it is because of us."

Soren put in pointedly, "We're mercenaries. Dwelling on the damage we cause for pay is pointless."

Ike nodded, "I know that. But while this isn't my own home, it was my father's home."

Realization dawned on Mist, "You..."

"Soren, quickly go tell Oscar to distribute half of the food we secured here amongst the townspeople."

Soren nodded and walked away, leaving brother and sister alone for the moment. Mist couldn't look more pleased with her brother if she tried, but Ike looked utterly perturbed. Mist said comfortingly, "You did the right thing, helping the people."

"What Begnion is doing here is wrong. It isn't our job, Mist, but we're going to help then," Ike affirmed, eyes showing a resolve that Mist hadn't seen since his days pursuing their father's murderer – the Black Knight.

As Ike stood Mist rushed forward, throwing her arms around the strong muscles of her brother's stomach, "Father would be proud of us, wouldn't he, Ike?"

"Yes, he would."

"He's still with us, you know."

"How so?"

"You remind me more and more of dad every day, Ike. You've become every bit the man he was."

Ike at last wrapped his arms around Mist, holding her tightly against him. "Thank you, Mist. That means a lot to me." It dawned on Ike that at that moment, he had left his father's shadow. He wasn't the growing man chasing the memory of a father he couldn't live up to – he was a strong man who was every bit the leader and fighter his father was. He was carving out a name independent from the name his father had so strongly established, and he was beginning a new journey. One that would test his abilities to live away from that shadow, to stand on his own two feet.

Neither he nor Mist noticed the eyes looking down at them from the balcony above.

* * *

There is chapter four! Lots of stuff happening with Ike's group now – they'll continue to hold a role as important as the Dawn Brigade's through the entirety of Part One. Ike is technically the main protagonist, by the way, so I'm trying to give him just a tiny bit more focus than Micaiah. But since Part One was all about Micaiah, there's only so much I can do about that right now. This factor will be more noticeable in later chapters.

Also, I start school next Wednesday (boo...!). I have a Code Geass update to do before then, and depending when that gets done I'll try to have another chapter of this before Wednesday. I make no promises, but I'll try my best. But going into Grade 11 and taking University level courses (I'm Canadian, in case anyone is looking at me wondering what the hell a University level course is) will be putting a small delay on updates for a while, so we may be looking at as long as a week between updates once school starts. We'll find out once I see just how bad the workload is, I suppose.


	5. A Distant Voice

Well, here we are with chapter 5.

First of all, sorry this chapter is late. But since I write this part before I actually write the chapter and then just come back and add more or edit bits as necessary, this statement may actually be outdated by the time this chapter is finished, seeing as this could be done before Wednesday or after it – I have no idea.

Anyway, first blunder worth noting is the fact of my apparent laziness in the latter scene with the Dawn Brigade – specifically, not mentioning Ilyana, Aimee or Kurth at all for the sake of speeding things along. Yes I was lazy and no they didn't jump off the face of the earth or anything; quite the opposite in fact, as I've always liked Ilyana and she'll be getting some attention during Part One, and then some more later on. Pairing options for her are a complete unknown to me, should I want to pair her off at all.

Secondly, this chapter is the first chapter with base conversations (as per the game, that is). While I'm certainly not about to take each conversation word for word and senselessly turn them into a conversation at the beginning, it is my plan to include them in one way or another. I hadn't really thought about it before now, so I suppose I'll just go about this chapter as I have the other four and do whatever seems natural when it comes time to worry about it. We'll see.

* * *

_The Greil Mercenaries take control of the Teran region within a matter of a few hours. This movement forces Begnion forces to retreat entirely from the Crimean border, instead fortifying themselves closer to the capital to respond to the frequent uprisings. The lack of fresh supplies has an immediate result in Begnion's Occupation Forces, and it is with great disdain that Jarod orders the retreat of many of the forces stationed between the capital and the Desert of Death in order to secure as much food as possible. The Dawn Brigade goes unopposed in their march toward the desert, following a lead stating that a liberation army is forming deep within it, and that the son of the late King Ashnard is their leader._

_Meanwhile, the Greil Mercenaries take their attack toward the Begnion border, stopping any attempts to retake Teran. The city becomes a restricted area within Daein where the people's lives show noticeable improvement. Word spreads like wildfire of a small group led by a blue haired man liberating the city, and so the Greil Mercenaries wisely flee the area and continue on toward Odyn, where a large prison is holding many civilians captive._

_The two groups work in unknown unison to liberate Daein from the tyrannical hands of Begnion's senators – the Greil Mercenaries protect the people while the Dawn Brigade seeks to eliminate Begnion as a whole, restoring their country. These two forces are destined to cross paths in a battle that no one can predict..._

* * *

Odyn prison was a large place, by any stretch of the imagination. Similar to the Daein Keep in essence, many feared its very presence and sought to avoid it at all costs. It is for that reason that it had so far gone as being a fortress that could not be captured – the large slopes leading toward it made for a difficult fight that was made no easier should anyone actually reach its looming walls.

The Greil Mercenaries dared to challenge this claim, camping at the base of the hill before the massive prison. All were seated around a small fire – a fire any larger would have revealed their presence – with their eyes drawn toward Soren who seemed to be in deep thought, looking from his lap to the prison and then back down again constantly. Not that anyone else looked any less troubled – the prison would be a difficult structure to capture given their numbers, even with the night on their side.

"Shinon, how are your eyes for scaling?" Soren lifted his eyes at last, staring at the auburn haired archer warily. The archer in question wore a look of indifference instead of his usual scowl as he looked up from the fire, seemingly pleased with himself. It was no secret that he took pride in any and every skill he had – and he had many – and having those around him gush over his talents gave him a sense of fulfillment that the other mercenaries found themselves lacking. Now, if only his skills could give him a lifestyle befitting of their worth...

"They are good enough. Am I going to be climbing up there and letting you guys in?" he replied, no traces of disdain noticeable in his voice, which came as quite a shock to those around him – he had, for the most part, had a grudging attitude toward what he did with the group.

"Yes," Soren replied without hesitation. His eyes drifted toward Ike as he said, "You should go with Shinon. If he leads the way you should have no trouble, and he'll need the support for his ranged fighting." Shinon was absolutely _loving_ the prospect of being superior to Ike at that moment. The smirk on his face as those words left Soren's mouth was missed by none.

"I agree," Ike said at once; he was not so petty as to dwell on the rivalry Shinon had tried to spark with him. "Then the rest of you will wait outside the gates – once we're in we'll let you in, and then we aim for the cells."

In hindsight, the plan had been a good one. Even climbing up the slightly spiked walls of the prison hadn't been unreasonable, and reaching the top hadn't required any vast amount of effort with Shinon's experience in the matter. But when they reached the top and found themselves looking down upon a prison interior with more soldiers than they could try to count, with only a large descending staircase separating them, the merits of the plan got a bit of rethinking.

"We're breaking through... _that_?" Shinon asked incredulously, preparing an arrow regardless.

Ike nodded, "You head toward the gates; I'll watch your back and hold off anyone that spots us." Despite being put second to his commander again Shinon nodded, not in any mood to be cut in half at that point in time – he had survived through far worse, right?

Shinon leaped toward the wall where a flag was hanging, gripping onto it tightly for a swift ride down to the ground. Before Shinon could be noticed Ike had made his way for the stairs, storming down them loudly to draw the attention of the guards. As they readied their lances and advanced on Ike, Shinon rushed toward the gates in the far distance, pausing briefly to lodge arrows in the skulls of the few guards that hadn't responded to or hadn't noticed Ike's arrival. Those that had noticed Ike vastly outnumbered those that had not, and the mercenary was forced to dig his feet into the ground, swinging repeatedly to beat off the guards as they surrounded him. It was no easy task but he managed all the same, either breaking lances or outright killing anything that came in range of his senseless swinging. An effective method indeed, albeit being a risky one in its own right.

As Shinon reached the gates he quickly dispatched the three guards on duty before running up the battlements and pulling on the lever that opened the gates, throwing a thumbs up over the wall to his allies below. Titania and Oscar rode in first, taking off in opposite direction with weapons swinging. Mia and Boyd followed on foot, taking off toward the stairs that led downward into the lower levels of the tiered prison. Gatrie had Rhys following close behind as he held onto what seemed to be a map of the prison, nodding to himself as he took off in the same direction as Oscar – most likely to reach a different section of the lower levels. Mist stuck close to Soren as he entered with Rolf, the two children acting as bodyguards as he strode in with a commanding air, eyes fixed ahead.

"Shinon!" he called harshly toward the battlements, not turning around. "Where is Ike?"

"He's being held up by the guards near where we infiltrated," Shinon replied swiftly, making his way down to Soren's level casually.

"Go lend him a hand. I'll stay here – the two of you come back here when you've cleared out the guards over there."

Ike's situation was nothing short of desperate as his swinging grew slower, bicep aching from the relentless movement. The soldiers continued to pour forth consistently, replacing any that were rendered weaponless or killed within seconds. The corpses were beginning to pile up as were the broken pieces of weapons – hadn't Begnion given their low ranking soldiers anything sturdy? - but with each new addition to the growing piles, there was more proof of Ike's growing exhaustion. He grunted as he continued to force as much strength as he could muster into his swings, his arm burning with pain as it was forced. Even then he didn't complain – this was nothing compared to the kind of effort that went into some of the more difficult battles during the war, such as against the Black Knight or against Ashnard, but even so the discomfort was evident.

"Not growing soft are you, Ike?" an arrow lodged itself in the side of a soldier's head and Shinon rushed by Ike, taking a defensive spot on the stairs as he readied a second arrow. "Stand there and be a good guard, will you?" Shinon continued mockingly. Ike nodded and readied himself, taking a more methodical approach of blocking and then attacking, Shinon's arrows providing relief every few seconds as they found a new target.

"How long do we have?" Ike asked as he got his second wind, taking a step forward and swinging his large sword diagonally from left to right, forcing the entire crowd of soldiers back as they were struck hard by the powerful swing. His initial attack was followed up by a second step and another swing coming back down to where his sword had started, this time taking out several soldiers and wounding others.

As he backed off and took a defensive stance Shinon smirked and fired an arrow into another soldier – this time striking the neck – as he said, "Getting tired? You really have grown soft."

Ike smirked, "Not tired at all." He emphasized his poing with a powerful horizontal swing that immediately killed every soldier caught by it, cleaving through their midsections with frightening effectiveness. "Sure your arm can take much more abuse? You're getting a little sluggish there, Shinon."

The archer scowled at Ike as he sped up the process of readying another arrow, firing them within three seconds of each other – far faster than Ike had ever seen. "I'm not the best for nothing – this arm has remained strong through much worse than this."

"And these muscles didn't come from nowhere," Ike shot back as his sword hooked into a soldier's hip, sending the soldier flipping backwards and into the ground as the sword was pulled upward and out of its confines.

"Well then," Shinon started, pausing to launch an arrow into a soldier's forehead. "We'll have to find out which of us is stronger, won't we."

Ike's sword similarly found another foe, sending the corpse flying into a couple other soldiers, knocking them down. "You're on." The sheer numbers forgotten, the two set out to see who was truly the stronger between the two – Ike abandoned his defensive post in favor of an all out onslaught while Shinon rushed to and fro, taking safe places as they became available and unleashing his arrows on the spreading out crowd of soldiers. Bodies fell one after the other to the two in amounts that quickly grew beyond their ability to count, but that got no more than a passing notice in their minds. They were far too focused on their own success to pay any mind for the bodies of helpless and fear stricken soldiers falling all around them.

Nearly ten minutes later the two regrouped by the stairs where they had started, both panting with grins on their faces. Shinon's grin looked horribly misplaced – a scowl was far more befitting of his features, Ike absently noted, and his eyes were shimmering with a delight Ike didn't know existed in the stoic archer. His disdain toward his commander momentarily forgotten, Shinon held out a hand that Ike graciously took, both saying at once, "Draw?"

Titania broke the silence that followed as she rode up to them, "Gatrie and Rhys have secured the prison's lower levels and Oscar has cleared the road to allow them to make their escape. We should get going before they catch wind of our attack and send somebody to retake the prison."

Ike nodded, "We're done here too. Tell Soren to take the others and pack up. We don't have time for more rest right now --"

"-- After a fight like this?" Shinon cut in, irritated. Ike gave him a smirk and flexed, taunting the archer. "Rolf may be tired, after all," Shinon added quickly, smirking back.

"How... thoughtful?" Titania tried, clueless. "Anyway, Ike, I'll go and send the word." At Ike's nod she took off toward the gates where Soren was sure to be waiting still. Ike and Shinon shared one last smug grin before they set off in the same direction.

"Soren!" Ike shouted as the short sage came into his sights, pointing out the gates as he shared a few words with Titania. As she rode off Soren looked over toward Ike, irritation written all over his face. "... What?"

"Where were you?" Soren asked impatiently, tapping his foot. The look he gave Ike was heavily reminiscent of a scolding look a mother would give her child – a feeling Ike was hardly familiar with, indeed.

"Fighting?" Ike tried, childishly timid under Soren's gaze. It was unusual for Ike to be anything short of the confidant, brash commander he usually was, and the very idea of Ike being anything but that was absurd to most.

"He was in deeper than I thought," Shinon added over Ike's shoulder, smirking smugly at Ike has he retreated into silence once again. Soren sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, his irritation fading into a sour look consisting of narrowed eyes and slightly parted lips.

"Even so," he started, sighing again. "The plan was to break in, get the prisoners and get out. Clearly, you didn't have such a thought in mind."

Ike shook his head, "They would have noticed eventually no matter how careful we were. Being pursued by Begnion guards isn't something we want."

"_Even _so," Soren groaned, glaring at Ike, eyes ablaze with fury. "You risked the rest of us with your impulsive decision. You need to remember that you are the commander and that these are _not_ the simple mercenary jobs we've been taking for the last half a year. This is a war we're fighting here, whether you realize it or not."

Ike had to admit, Soren had a point. With a sigh, he said, "Its not like we've declared war on them or anything, though --"

"-- To them, we might as well have, Ike." When Ike said nothing, avoiding Soren's gaze, he continued, "We've attacked them twice now. We may be no more than pests to them, but we are still carrying out acts of aggression against Begnion here. We are still their enemies in this scenario. And that means you aren't a mercenary leader here – you are our general, our leader, and that means you cannot afford to be running off impulsively like you did tonight."

The reality of the situation was a harsh blow indeed to Ike. They had declared war on Begnion – the same nation that they had essentially led to victory over the very country they now sought to resurrect. It could be said that they fought in Crimea's name, but the liberation army was largely composed of Begnion soldiers. In fact, the only divergence from that fact was in the fact that the leaders of the army were loyal to Crimea, and that the Gallians that later joined the army were fighting in Crimea's name. Even so, Ike owed much to the country he was now fighting – as a mercenary he cared not for their past agreements, but as a military general he held much regard for the nation.

Ike kept his eyes on the map Tormod had given him as the group packed up, plotting out their next destination. He handed the map off to Soren as he approached, and the sage said immediately, "We should start heading toward Talrega. Even if any of the liberation groups rising up have any success, the time of year makes an attack on the place impossible. We're at least familiar with the area. And if we rescue the prisoners, we can increase our own strength --"

Ike shook his head, "Our job is to protect the civilians. We'll head toward Talrega because its position is advantageous, but our targets along the way will be the civilian camps at Taria and Helda. Attacking the labor camp there does nothing for us."

* * *

The cold wasteland that the Daein countryside often was had been long forgotten in the past few days of travel for the Dawn Brigade. The Desert of Death was a hollowed wasteland of nothing but scorching sands with a perpetual dusk painting the sky a dark red obscured by the unending sandstorms raging around them. In a sense the shift from countryside to desert wasn't a difficult transition – there were several instances of the countryside being little more than a barren wasteland – but the noticeable change in temperature was a telltale sign of their new environment. Compared to the colder temperatures in Daein it was a welcome change, but the novelty of the desert's heat was a quick one to wear off. And so, they were eternally grateful to have found some form of refuge through the endless sea of sand.

No matter how questionable its living conditions appeared to be. And that was from an outside glance.

Aimee looked especially relieved to have found refuge, collapsing into the sand where she stood and all but squealing with glee, careless of the sand now dirtying her dress-like robe. Ilyana similarly collapsed although for an entirely different reason – on top of Sothe's foot, the green haired thief noted bemusedly – and Edward soon followed suit, leaning against Sothe's leg in a similar fashion to Ilyana. Sothe raised an eyebrow but was much too focused on the matter at hand to bother himself with saving his leg from them, instead occupying himself with looking over at Micaiah, noting, "You don't look very pleased with this place. Is something wrong?"

Micaiah didn't answer, her eyes taking on a distant look as she gazed at the large arched entrance to the castle. When Sothe poked at her cheek and repeated the statement – it hadn't sounded like a question to begin with – she jumped, looking at Sothe as though she'd just seen a ghost. When her breathing evened out she said, "The place is fine... It..."

"What is going on, Micaiah?" Sothe raised an eyebrow and Micaiah inwardly cursed Sothe's ability to read her like a book.

"I'm not sure," she replied honestly, shrugging indifferently. "This place... There is something strange about it. Something here... is calling out to me, I think. I'm not sure, but..."

"We'll check it out; we should look into this, at the very least. Everyone else, check the surroundings of this place."

Nolan nodded, immediately adopting the role of overseeing those outside the castle-esque structure, "Will do. Everyone be on you guard. And Sothe, be careful – we can't be sure what may be in there. If something comes up, light the signal. We'll head in once we're done out here."

Sothe flashed him a thumbs up as he said, "You got it."

The interior was something out of a storybook and most certainly not the sand filled cavern they had been expecting: rubble covering much of the ground in a manner that clearly showed that time had not been kind to the place, stone walls surprisingly devoid of moss – Sothe figured it was due to the environment – all came together to say the one thing both Micaiah and Sothe were hesitant to say. Dreadful. In a word, the place was absolutely dreadful, albeit amazing in its own way. Despite not being a picky person by default, Micaiah found herself wondering whether or not it was safe for their health to be making a temporary home out of such a place. Sothe was no more picky than Micaiah, though he found himself looking at the matter in a slightly better light than Micaiah – they had managed to avoid a night camped in the sand so far, and had they not found this place that would have been what they'd have been doing in a matter of hours. It was certainly an improvement.

Sothe found the amazing quality far stronger than Micaiah did, finding himself in awe as he said, "I can't believe ruins like these are still standing... its amazing."

Snorting in disapproval Micaiah said, "They do seem quite old, indeed..." Shrugging off her disapproval she added, curiously, "I wonder who built them?"

Looking toward the ceiling, Sothe noted as he observed the sheer size, "It must have been Laguz, given the size."

Not grasping exactly how the sheer size mattered, Micaiah asked, "What makes you say that?"

"Their comparably larger bodies aside, what do you think it would be like to be able to transform into a bird, a dragon, or even a beast as the Laguz can?" At Micaiah's raised eyebrow he continued, "Being part beast is one thing, but being able to transform into a beast – with all of the strength that comes with it... It wouldn't be a stretch to imagine they could build something like this before breakfast."

Micaiah nodded animatedly, momentarily stunned by his words. Once they had managed to register themselves in her mind fully, she said, "I suppose that is true... but even so, you surprised me more than these Laguz ruins..."

"How so?"

"You've changed, Sothe, whether you realize it or not." She placed her arms around his waist and snuggled against his chest briefly, chin resting on his chest as she gazed up at his face, "I remember a time when Laguz were nothing more than "filthy Sub-Humans" to you. Such an ugly word, really... now look at you though," as she pulled away from him again, she poked a finger at his heart and grinned.

Sothe scratched at the back of his head, clueless as to how much e'd really changed, "Well, come on Micaiah. Beorc are called the Children of Wisdom and Laguz the Children of Strength for a reason. Many people are still naive, but I've realized that just because our two races differ, neither is better than the other. Bias between our two races is no more than ignorance, unfortunately." He went into a state of reminiscence for a moment before he continued, "When I met Ike during the war, three years ago... and when I fought beneath him... he made me realize this. He's come leaps and bounds in racial acceptance alone."

Micaiah placed her hands on her hips and groaned, frowning, "Here I thought you were saying something witty! But no, its just another excuse to talk about him."

"What are you talking about, Micaiah?"

"Don't give me that, Sothe! Sometimes, its as if every other thing you say is an ode to the _Great General Ike_," she adopted a mocking tone as she spat out Ike's name, glaring at Sothe to give her displeasure the extra emphasis. "I know you owe him your life, and that you want to be like him! But in case you've forgotten, he's also the man who crushed us. Had he not attacked three years ago, we wouldn't be in the position we are now!"

"I know that!" Sothe snapped, glaring back. "Everyone does! But looking at it only from our side is selfish, Micaiah – he was doing the same thing we're trying to do now, thats all."

"And suddenly he's a saint?! Grow up, Sothe!"

"I didn't say that! And also, Micaiah, theres a good chance he's making amends for that!"

Micaiah narrowed her eyes, "What are you talking about, Sothe?"

"You saw all those troops retreating to Nevassa as we were on our way here! They weren't retreating for no reason – particularly when we are their number one enemy. Somebody did something."

"And you're saying your General Ike is responsible?" Micaiah spat skeptically.

"This is within days of the rumors regarding the Greil Mercenaries' flight to our country. The odds are high, Micaiah. And if anyone is capable of doing something like that, it is General Ike."

"You're just having trouble grasping the fact that your hero may actually be dead. He isn't invincible, Sothe. He's human," Micaiah growled, finding her temper regarding the subject at hand growing thin.

Sothe growled so deeply in the back of his throat that it made Micaiah jump, "You're speaking about him as if he's some insult to humanity that is trying to take me away from you – which is completely absurd, I might add! And General Ike is every bit as hard to kill as I've made him out to be; Geoffrey wouldn't do him in so easily, I know that much."

Micaiah opened her mouth to argue further, but was promptly cut off by Yune flying out from under her robes, chirping happily as it flew further into the room. Micaiah raised an eyebrow and called, "Yune?" after her bird before turning and running after it, Sothe close on her heels, their disagreement momentarily forgotten.

As the tiny bird led them on a goose chase through the ruins, they finally came to a stop at the top of a set of stairs, in a rather peculiar room. The room's general appeal wasn't a whole lot better, but there were certain key differences. Namely, the sand that covered the ground lightly and the piles of hold and other treasures that littered the room to the point of an almost blinding light bouncing off them and around the room. Micaiah had to squint her eyes as she walked into the room, muttering, "Incredible..."

Sothe gazed around in equal awe, "Mounds of treasure...?" Now, he wasn't a selfish person in the least. Much less did he desire riches of any sort. But remaining indifferent in the face of such treasure was a rather hard job, he reasoned. Noticing a similar awed look now on Micaiah's face he uncharacteristically smirked, saying, "Perhaps it was the gold that called out to you, Micaiah?"

A deafening roar had them rushing toward the center of the room and watching. Several people with distinctly animalistic features sauntered in from two sets of stairs on opposite sides of the large room with two much larger people in tow. They spread out in a way that quickly told the two unlucky prey that attempting escape was as suicidal as standing there was.

The two larger men – presumably the leaders – walked in front of the rest, glowering at Micaiah and Sothe. The two were nearly identical in appearance, discernible only by the differing colors of the claw-like designs on their heads; one had purple designs while the other had blue. The latter of the two laughed haughtily, saying, "Well look here, my Fang Brothers! Looks like a tasty snack arrived while we were gone!"

The other chuckled in kind as he added, "Our first prey in a long time indeed. Brothers, leave them to me!"

Sothe cursed their luck audibly, saying, "Laguz bandits!" he couldn't say much else before one of the Laguz turned into a cat and rushed at them, claws poised to strike. As it leaped at Sothe he ducked, grabbing one of his knives and thrusting it upward into the stomach of the cat. It got up and prepared to lunge again, only to be cut short as a sword came down upon its back, causing it to cry out and slump to its side, lifeless. A knight covered from head to toe in pink armor came out from around a wall, helmet in her free hand to reveal a face belonging to someone of no more than sixteen or seventeen, her auburn hair pulled into two pigtails.

"Ah, thank you..." Sothe started, raising an eyebrow. The thought briefly crossed his mind how she'd escaped their notice so far, but he didn't allow the thought to linger.

"You guys looked like you needed help!" the girl chirped with a grin, pulling her helmet over her head and pulling the visor up to leave her eyes visible. "Mind if I lend a hand?"

Micaiah smiled, "Not at all... Um..."

"Meg!" the girl finished gleefully.

"Well, Meg," Sothe started, smiling slightly. "We're not exactly the safest group around. But if you're sure..." At Meg's enthusiastic nod of assurance, he nodded in kind, "Micaiah, give the signal."

* * *

"Take this!" Meg cried excitedly as she swung down at another tiger, only to yelp in surprise as it jumped to its feet almost immediately and lunged, digging one of its long nails into the armor covering her chest, narrowly missing penetrating her skin.

The yelp Meg gave off drew Leonardo's attention and he abandoned providing support for Nolan in favor of investigating – raising an eyebrow at the sight of Meg now on her back with her sword held in front of her holding back two large tiger paws, he notched an arrow and lodged it in the tiger's head, throwing a tiny smile at Meg when her head whipped over to look at him in surprise. He didn't see much more than that as he turned back to Nolan as she pried herself out from under the corpse, but he could have sword he heard something along the lines of an adoring, "My hero."

Yes, they were a desperate bunch indeed to enlist the aid of such a person.

Not too far away Sothe was fending off two cats at once. As one went in for another tackle he kicked it aside, grabbing a dagger from his side and throwing it at the cat's exposed belly. The other cat leaped at him as well, but before it got near a bolt of lightning stuck down on it, stunning it as it tried to shake off the pain the coursing electricity provided. The opening was more than enough for Sothe to finish it off too. Ilyana came up beside him and handed him a cloth with which he wiped off his knives, smiling timidly at him, "Are you okay, Sothe? You're not... tired?"

Sothe chuckled, "We all are. But we will die if we don't fight, right?"

"You are right," Ilyana replied dreamily. "Why are you not with Micaiah?"

Sothe didn't answer at first, more than a little preoccupied by the roar that marked the arrival of another tiger. As he swiftly dug one knife into its throat and another into the soft area just below the back of its neck, he answered solemnly, "She said I was of more use out here than babying her and that she could take care of herself."

"Ah," was all Ilyana said in response, waving her hand in the direction of the tiger and sending a bolt of lightning down upon its writhing body, finishing it off immediately. "But I thought she was... your..." she trailed off, but the embarrassed blush that crossed her face told Sothe what she meant.

Shaking his head, his expression grew more serious as he said, "No... I just owe my life to her, as she does me. We are family, I guess, but nothing more. We love eachother, but... its not how you are thinking."

Ilyana looked up into his eyes, saying softly, "You don't sound happy about that."

Sothe stared at her for a long moment before speaking, "... We have a battle to fight. Stay with me."

* * *

Elsewhere, Aran was being far less talkative as he exchanged between holding his shield out and thrusting his lance forward regularly, ignoring Laura as she ranted off about how he should be more careful and how, "The Goddess frowns upon such recklessness," or something or the sort. He didn't even bother trying to remember that one.

And so he was both eternally grateful and slightly worried when a deafening roar that certainly sounded like more than one tiger silenced her immediately. Laura reverted to clinging to his back and making herself as small as possible – most likely in the hopes that she wouldn't be noticed – and watched closely as two tigers charged at Aran at once. He swiftly dispatched the first by thrusting his lance through its mouth as it leaped, but the other ended up being more than a little bothersome as it chomped down on his shield, determined not to lose its grip.

But for all of its determination, in the face of a pending lance thrust to its completely exposed side it hardly put up a fight. The Laguz immediately detached itself from Aran's sheild and put some distance between the two before starting into a slow circling motion like any good animal did before hunting its prey. Aran followed it both with his eyes and with his movements, casually pushing Laura further back to protect her. "Stay... back," he whispered, barely registering her nod from the corner of his eye.

The tiger suddenly lunged, growling menacingly as its claws scratched along the stone ground, kicking up sand when it leaped into the air. When its fangs were right in his face Aran threw his lance up, placing it just in front of the threatening teeth and holding its mouth open. Using the lance as leverage he leaped up and onto the tiger's back, pulling the lance from its mouth and stabbing it down into its neck repeatedly. Once it had gone limp he leaped off of it again, panting for air as he tried to regain his strength. He barely registered Laura's enthusiastic call of, "Aran!" as she rushed to his side, eyes scanning him carefully for anything she could do to help.

"I'm fine," Aran said, more than a little uncomfortable at that moment.

"I-I just..."

"I appreciate the sentiment," Aran smiled very faintly – so faintly it was barely noticed - as he placed a hand on her shoulder, triggering the appearance of a much larger smile on her face. "But Sothe is up ahead. We should go."

* * *

Edward beheaded another tiger while Micaiah's light magic tore through a cat, sending them both plummeting to the ground atop one another. Micaiah wiped the growing amounts of sand from her clothes as Edward cleaned off his sword to spare it from the thick scent of blood. With a nod to eachother they continued forward, passing by a particularly large mound of gold – which was more than enough to draw Edward's attention away from the task at hand for several moments – as they went. Both kept their eyes scanning from side to side out of habit, unable to shake the worry that someone was waiting to leap out from around a corner and do them in before they knew what was happening.

"Where is Sothe?" Edward asked absently for what seemed the sixth time. Were it intended as anything but a reminder of his shock that Sothe wasn't watching over Micaiah like a hawk, she would have pondered the possibility of Edward being obsessed – despite the lack of substantial evidence.

And for the sixth time as well, Micaiah answered, "He's taking everyone else and going around to attack the other side of the chamber – it was more occupied."

Rather than making another remark about how he was shocked Sothe hadn't left everything to Nolan and come running to Micaiah like a knight in shining armor, Edward grunted in displeasure, "We're not getting reinforcements, are we?"

"Oh, don't be so negative! We are doing fine!" Micaiah chirped, giving her biggest smile for assurance's sake.

The effect that reassuring smile normally had on people fell short this time as a loud growl directed their attention toward the far corner of the room. While they were expecting to see a tiger they were surprised – and slightly worried – to find out that the noise had come from a Laguz in human form. Noticing their expressions the Laguz laughed maniacally, saying, "Come here! Come here so I can taste you – Beorc make good meals, after all!"

Micaiah glowered as threateningly as she could, shouting in return, "We didn't purposely intrude on your territory! Please listen!"

"Oh, I'll listen..." The large man took a step forward, laughing loudly as he said, "As I'm gnawing on those delicious bones!" Edward stepped in front of Micaiah and braced himself as the man changed into a large tiger and attacked, tearing up sand beneath him as he ran. He leaped at Edward and snapped at the air a few times tauntingly, only to end up chomping down on Edward's sword as he threw it out in defense. Holding him in place Edward grabbed his other sword and slashed down, catching the tiger where his shoulder would have been but was instead the top of one of his legs. The tiger let out a more humanoid hiss and backed off, releasing Edward's sword in the process.

Edward closed the distance and swung at the momentarily unmoving tiger, hooking his sword into the tiger's underside and pushing, tossing him aside and leaving a very large cut in his underside. He hissed as he tried to pull himself up – a difficult task given the wound pouring blood beneath him – and replaced that hiss with an enraged growl as he narrowed his eyes at Edward, silently marking him as his next pray. Noticing this immediately Edward grew uncharacteristically serious, throwing his arm out and saying, Micaiah, leave this to me." Micaiah immediately nodded and stepped to the side, keeping a tight grip on her tome regardless.

As weird as a duel of claw and jaw versus steel sounded, they managed to make it seem almost no different than a duel between two weapons. Edward ducked under the tiger's lunge and spun around, swinging his sword horizontally and the tiger would duck in kind before kicking his back legs out, narrowly dodging Edward as he jumped away from the threatening legs. Their movements were swift and hard to follow – and to Micaiah's surprise the tiger was more than capable of defending itself despite his lack of any real armor – but there was a certainty in the fact that they were well matched. And Micaiah found the engagement enthralling to watch, despite her personal feelings on the matter.

It wasn't until after another few rounds of clawing and slicing at eachother – to very little effect, Micaiah added with a raised eyebrow – that the tiger reverted to his human form, panting but grinning. "You are strong, Beorc! I am going to enjoy this!" he ran forward, transforming just in time to dodge a swing from Edward's sword and tackled the swordsman to the ground, and even as an animal his eager grin wasn't missed. Edward was helpless save for the sword he had pressed against the tiger's stomach to keep it from crushing him, and his other arm was pinned beneath a large paw, leaving him at the mercy of the bloodthirsty tiger.

Twisting his head away from the snapping jaw in front of him Edward mustered every ounce of strength he had – which wasn't much – Edward pushed against the stomach hovering over him, finally managing to toss him aside. Grabbing his other sword he pounced, slicing at the tiger that lay helpless on the ground furiously, leaving him little more than a blood-spewing mess, writhing on the ground. Paying him no further mind Edward sheathed his swords, turning to face Micaiah with a small smile, "Shall we go?"

"Sothe is probably done now, as well."

As the group gathered together at the far end of the chamber ankle deep in sand, Micaiah's thoughts were hardly on the growing amount of sand inside her footwear. "Yune? ...Yune! You can come out now!"

Sothe sighed as he tucked away his now clean knives, shaking his head, "You and that bird, Micaiah... Its a little strange, really."

"Totally," Aimee added with a grin.

Micaiah huffed indignantly, crossing her arms over her chest and looking away defiantly, "You both are just jealous. Yune is..." She paused as a strange sound – strange, but eerily familiar at the same time – filled her ears. "Shh. I... I hear something. ...Singing?"

"I don't hear anything," Sothe muttered, raising an eyebrow.

"Shush!" Micaiah hissed, looking around. At last she pointed down a narrow hallway not ten feet away from them, saying, "Its coming from that way," and taking off without another word. Muttering something under his breath about Micaiah not thinking before she acted Sothe took off after her, motioning with his hand for everyone else to wait where they were.

The singing continued to grow louder as they grew closer to the room at the far end of the hallway, finally coming to another room where a blond man sat, Yune on his shoulder and white wings flowing out from his back. On either side of him were two wolves that had Sothe bug-eyed in wonder – one bore a shimmering white coat of fur that screamed royalty even on an animal, while the other was a grey that marked that wolf as a servant in much the same way. Both looked almost too calm as the blond sang softly, his hand reaching up and gently scratching the top of Yune's head, smiling gently at the bird perched on him.

"Thats..." Micaiah started, struck with awe.

"...Beautiful," Sothe finished for her, nodding eagerly. "I've only heard singing like this once before."

Nodding absently, Micaiah began to walk forward, saying, "Hey! Who... are you?"

The two wolves stood up and stepped in front of the blond, transforming to reveal human forms similar in their elegance to their wolf forms. The white wolf changed into a woman befitting the beauty of her wolf form despite how horribly underdressed she was, wearing only a small black sleeveless top that reached only halfway up her bust, a transparent white shawl covering her left arm and a golden sash crossing from her left shoulder to her right hip. A mahogany cloth wrapped around her entire lower body and leaving much revealed, covered only by the purple leg guards that stretched down to her knees. Her long gray hair with wolfish white ears, piercing emerald eye – a golden cloth covered her right eye – and the dark designs covering her arms and legs acted as a well suited addition to her look, showing the more wild side of the wolf she just happened to be.

Unlike the white wolf, the grey wolf – a male – was dressed far more simply. He wore nothing on his upper body, leaving his toned muscles and the dark designs covering his arms revealed to all. Simple white pants covered his legs down to the shins where black shinguards take over the duty, stretching down to sandals that poorly covered his equally poorly cared for toenails. A red cloth went over the pants with black metal plates holding it in place at the waist, black cloth extending down the back of his legs in such a way that made them look like wings. His more wild side came in the form of his raven black, unkempt hair with black ears poking out from their depths, the long strands falling on either side of his stoic face. Both looked overly protective of the blond behind them, glowering at Micaiah until the blond stood, waving a hand for them to step back.

"Child, I am Rafael." The blond waved a hand toward the room around them, continuing, "A voice called me here. Was it your's?"

Micaiah shook her head no, saying, "But I heard a voice that guided me here as well. Someone – or some_thing_ – must want us here. Why, I cannot say."

Sothe spoke up by adding, "You're both Laguz, I can tell. You are of the Heron clan, and... two of the Beast tribe?" The last bit was added with a questioningly raised eyebrow.

"That is correct, Beorc," Rafael answered. Realization dawning on him, shock settled in as he stuttered to ask, "How did you know I was... I thought..."

"Your white wings you are of the royal family. Are you, perhaps, related to Prince Reyson?"

Rafael nodded meekly, "Reyson is my brother. Do you know of him?"

"Something like that," Sothe shrugged. "We served in the same company for a while."

"Are you... are you suggesting my brother lives still?" Rafael asked softly. Mentally, he willed himself not to get his hopes up, but his heart was in no mood to listen to reason.

Sothe nodded, "Yeah, he's alive. And Princess Leanne and your father are as well. Unless something has happened, they are living in the royal palace of Gallia with King Caineghis and the beast tribe."

Rafael's mouth was wide open as tears of joy began streaming down his cheeks relentlessly. It took him several minutes to get his emotions under control, and even then the task of speaking became no easier, "I-I... Unbelievable," he choked out finally. "My father... Leanne... Oh, sweet Leanne... you're still with me! I'm... I'm not alone..." the female of the two wolves tentatively stepped toward Rafael, slowly wrapping her arms around him and allowing him to collapse against her. "I'm not alone... not anymore..."

"Rafael..." was all she could manage out in reply, struck silent by the emotional moment. She shared a look with the other wolf who looked equally touched, though he remained completely silent.

Unintentionally bringing the moment to an abrupt end, Micaiah looked at the female wolf and asked, "Who are you?"

Pulling away from Rafael and allowing him to slump back into his seat, the wolf replied, "I am Nailah, Queen of Hatari." Micaiah and Sothe shared a bewildered look and Nailah answered their unasked question as she went on, "Our kingdom lies far to the east, on the other side of the desert. And this," she pointed to the other wolf. "He is Volug, my loyal servant."

Ignoring the last of her statement Sothe asked, "There is land on the other side of the desert?"

"That is what I just said." Nailah shook her head and chuckled before continuing, "Before we met Rafael, you were just as nonexistent to us. Save for us, nobody has dared to cross the desert and live to tell of it. And even then, we have only made it this far because of Rafael."

Rafael looked at Sothe as he took over, "My people – the herons – were blamed for the murder of Begnion's Empress, as you know. Begnion mobs rose up in rage and despair and massacred them all --"

"-- The Serenes Massacre," Sothe clarified.

"Correct," Rafael nodded. "I managed to survive the massacre and after many years finally found myself in this desert, where I wandered in despair for many a day. I was found by the queen, and were it not for her I would have surely died. She brought me to Hatari, where I vowed to dedicate my life to her. I did so gladly and without question, but each and every night for those three long years a voice called out to me. It grew stronger with each night until it finally led me here, to you two. And what joy it brings me to hear the news you brought! Leanne, Reyson... father..." As he began tearing up again he muttered, "O Goddess, I thank thee..."

"Rafael..." Nailah started softly. She glared suddenly as she added, "You talk too much. Control yourself." Leaving Rafael to his happiness-induced stupor she pointed authoratively at Micaiah as she said, "Beorc, what would be the fastest route to Gallia?"

Sothe spoke up for her, "For a group of Laguz, travelling through the Daein countryside would be nothing short of suicide. It would take you much longer, but we could escort you as far as Crimea."

Nailah nodded, "If that is the case, we would be grateful. But why Crimea? Wouldn't it be faster to go straight to Gallia?"

Sothe quickly shook his head, "Impossible – there is no way you would be getting into Gallia on your own. But there is a man in Crimea who can get you into Gallia without incident; you'd be best off seeking his aid. That man – Ike – is in contact with Gallia's advisors and is close friends with King Caineghis. He can get you in."

Rafael stood up and slowly began walking, and as one everyone began the return trip to the rest of the brigade. Tilting his head to the side, Rafael couldn't help asking, "Why is he so close to the king? Beorc, I thought..."

Sothe knew exactly what he meant, "Racism is strong still. But Ike is a stepping stone in equality – for the past four years he has built friendships with many Laguz from the king and his advisors to Prince Reyson and Princess Leanne, as well as King Tibarn of Phoenicis."

Rafael was awestruck to say the least, "There is such a man in Tellius these days? Oh, so much has changed..."

Micaiah couldn't stand staying out of yet another bout of Ike-worship any longer, and with great disdain said, "Yes, there is such a man. Lord Ike, 'hero' of the Crimean Liberation, leader of the Greil Mercenaries..." And then, with even more hatred she spat out, "And father of Sothe's children. Truly a great man."

Nailah raised an eyebrow as she asked, "What is her problem?"

To Micaiah's great displeasure Sothe chuckled slightly before explaining, "We are from Daein ourselves. Ike led an army to restore Crimea three years ago, and destroyed Daein in the process. She is adamant in her belief that he is our greatest enemy and an insult to humanity."

"I am not!" Micaiah replied almost too hastily. "But he _is_ our enemy. Is disliking your enemy wrong?"

Sothe shook his head as he muttered almost inaudibly, "Disliking them as much as you do is."

"I heard that." As they suddenly returned to the ankle deep sand Nolan walked forward with Edward and Ilyana, with the rest of them trailing behind. Micaiah looked at the whole group intently – something seemed out of place, though she couldn't place it – before shrugging and waving to Nolan eagerly, "We're ready to go," she informed him, laughing slightly at the delighted expression that crossed his face. She was about to comment when something clicked and she asked, "Where is Kurth?"

* * *

The castle overlooking the rest of the Talrega region was every bit as luxurious as it had been when he had last seen it, Ike noted. In fact it must have been uninhabited save for the Begnion soldiers at the labor camp in the area, because there were even Daein flags still standing strong in the throne room. With the raising of an eyebrow Ike stared at the flags for a moment before coming to the conclusion that they should stay, turning on his heel to face Soren who had entered trailing behind him, asking, "What place should we attack from here?"

Soren looked at the map gripped tightly in his hand for a minute before answering, "There isn't much we can do from here. Begnion's defenses are still strong in and around the Daein Keep, and breaking through them would be necessary to reach some of the more serious labor camps and prisons. We have gotten lucky so far, but breaking through the bulk of the Begnion Occupation Army is simply beyond our capabilities."

Ike nodded, "Picking a fight with their entire army is something we can leave to the liberation groups."

Titania walked into the room with Shinon and Rolf in tow, shrugging, "How about Tor Garen? If the senators are as united as we can assume they are, it wouldn't surprise me that there are fresh soldiers on their way here. If we can fortify Tor Garen, we can hold out there until we decide on a course of action."

Soren seemed pleased with the suggestion, "Tor Garen has only ever been breached once, and it was by us. Its reputation alone would offer us some protection..."

"Again, that is involving ourselves with the war to retake Daein. Our contract to Tormod has nothing to do with Daein's resurrection," Ike countered with a shake of his head.

"Is that so?" Ike raised an eyebrow toward the doorway where a boy of seemingly no older than seventeen or eighteen stood, donning a brown cloak with a hood laying loosely behind his head. Green hair framed his face and fell to the back of his neck, complimenting deep red eyes and a mark on his forehead of the same color.

"Kurthnaga!" Ike cried, rushing over to his friend and holding a hand out that Kurthnaga eagerly took, smiling gently. "What brings you here?"

"I'm travelling with a group – that green haired stowaway you had with you when we last met is with them – that is currently in the desert in search of the supposed son of King Ashnard. Rumors of a small group's exploits have reached all corners of Daein. Many are suspecting it is you guys, and I felt I should confirm the rumor."

"So we are that famous again..." Ike sighed and shook his head before looking at Kurthnaga again, "So Sothe is with them? Their leader is that friend he was looking for, then..."

"They are rather close."

"I see," Ike nodded, ending the discussion.

Soren jumped in at that moment, asking irritably, "Why do you seem to think that our actions have anything to do with this country's resurrection?"

"Why do you think otherwise?" Kurthnaga countered with a shake of his head. "Begnion is more concerned with the group I am with than they are you, but they would be dead now were it not for you. You are doing far more than you seem to realize."

"Even if that were so, our job is only to help the people here. More than that is not our concern," Soren shot back quickly, scowling.

"And if I were to offer you more money to make that your duty?" Kurthnaga smiled.

"Twenty thousand," Soren replied, his scowl replaced by an indifferent look that showed he was about as happy as he ever would be.

"And you shall be resurrecting Daein from the sidelines," Kurthnaga finished, nodding. "Make sure you are not found out though. Sothe's friend hates you, Ike, and I'm sure your aid isn't something she'd be accepting of."

Ike chuckled darkly, "I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

And that is the end of chapter five – and far longer than previous chapters, to boot! If anyone is wondering why I left everything almost identical to the game script while seeing fit to expand on anything that bashed Ike, well... I felt a little expansion on Micaiah's dislike of him would help for later on. Highly unnecessary, true, but I didn't see any reason not to.

Now, I have been having a lot of motivation for Timeless Imprisonment as of late, and so that may or may not get more focus until I'm satisfied – I have been going back and forth so far, but we'll see depending on how much I suddenly feel like writing.


	6. The Lost Heir

Well, I know I gave fair warning about this chapter being delayed, but I still feel the need to say sorry. Really sorry.

... Really, really sorry? Honestly, I lost all drive to write this for a while. If that wasn't obvious enough by now.

Anyway, I won't dwell on the groveling – if people request more groveling later than grovel I shall, but until then I shall refrain. Rather, I will address a recent review (and, quite frankly, the reason I got my drive to write again) from Dr. Mancusio. Because, at risk of being frank again, his review was absolutely wonderful. Gave me a strong self-consciousness while writing this, but that was probably a good thing. More importantly, a very important issue was addressed, and one I really am guilty of: giving Ike as much focus as I have. Granted this was due to change soon, but that is neither here nor there. And so I scrapped everything I had written for this chapter and rewrote it. I will continue to take a Crimean-Ike-Daein perspective to better tie parts one and two together, but hopefully this chapter will grant better focus on Micaiah and the Dawn Brigade, as I realize I have been lacking in that. The story will remain unchanged, if anyone is worried about that, but... well I've already gone over what is pending to be changed.

While I'm at it, I'll contest your criticism (if that is the right term for it) of the way I have characterized Edward. Among other things, I have drawn his personality from the fact that Edward is in fact still very young, and I have thus given him a personality reminiscent of the average young soldier, eager for a good fight – all those good things, and many more. I won't say what I have planned for him, but I will say that I absolutely love Edward and (Ike and Micaiah aside) he is due to quite possibly more development than any other character. I have no intentions to pair him off (mostly because I think it is better left otherwise; that and the fact that a break has given me enough time to fully plan for other pairings), but then there's also the fact that I have no intentions to make romance the be all and end all of this fic.

So if it isn't too much of me to ask, I would love to see another review from you, if only to tell me where I stand after this attempt at repairing that issue.

And lastly, I gave a name to the small outpost that Micaiah's group is at in the beginning of this chapter – if you're careful you will notice it's closeness to Yied, the name of the desert in Seisen no Keifu. This was done on purpose, as I drew much of the more despairing aspects of the desert from that desert.

* * *

_The Desert of Death proves to be every bit as taxing as rumors speak. The Dawn Brigade fights a battle against their own selves as they try to cross the dreadful desert, forced into conditions more harsh than ever before. They abandon the safety of refuge and press on. With each day the threat upon their lives grows stronger still, until their movement is as a snail's pace, each step into the soft sand labored._

_Even so, they push on. Micaiah's foresight is their only ally against the desert that had taken the lives of so many others. But as is it's wont, Micaiah's foresight once again draws them toward battle..._

_The Greil Mercenaries, meanwhile, are given a new mission. Although with great reluctance, they take upon the task of aiding in the restoration of the kingdom they themselves brought to kneel. They descend the sloping landscape of the Talrega region and pass through the same land they fought for, retracing their steps toward the fabled defensive position at Tor Garen. A natural fortress, it is believed that they would be able to withstand the onslaught of Begnion's growing attempts to suppress the Dawn Brigade by fortifying that position. It is their hope that they can bide time for a liberation army to rise with enough force to fight on equal terms with Begnion, and they place this hope unknowingly upon the shoulders of the young Silver Haired Maiden..._

* * *

Simple child games such as Hide and Seek weren't that different from some of his duties were as of late, Geoffrey had come to realize.

It wasn't enough that he'd cast aside his dignity for the mission. Oh no. Skipping out on a meeting because he was 'drilling soldiers' as a front to gather information? Spending a day with Duke Felirae as his almost too willing servant? Having Lucia dress him up – quite successfully – as a woman so he could casually invade conversations between the duke's maids? No, those sacrifices weren't enough. Which was why he was now dressed as a common thief would be dressed, carefully moving through the shadows of Castle Felirae in search of information. This wasn't an act befitting of the commander of the Royal Knights – not at all. But this was what he would need to do if he were to protect his country, which was his duty as commander of the Royal Knights.

Granted, Lucia had offered to assist with her far more... intrusive methods at gathering information. And initially Geoffrey had agreed, but they continued to come up dry. If the Duke was indeed planning rebellion, he was doing a _very_ good job of hiding it. In all honesty, Geoffrey was beginning to doubt that any of his snooping around would find anything he could truly use against the Duke. Sure, there was the occasional rumor that his administration as the Duke of Felirae was one of questionable worth, and that he did little to actually help the public beyond providing all the basic necessities and protection. But that was no crime against the crown. That was no more than a small ripple into the waters. And it was not something Geoffrey could use against the man. If anything it was a sign that he was not inept, and thus worthy of the office he held. Subsequently, that bit of information was rather counter-productive.

The thought had crossed Geoffrey's mind that Soren had been lying – that Ludveck's rebellious intent was a fabrication on their part to escape the grip of Crimea long enough to escape. And he had to admit that if there was anyone he knew that would be willing to make use of such a plot, it would be Soren. But as self-indulgent as the Greil Mercenaries were in matters of self preservation, turning their backs on a friend nation – their home, no less – was simply not something they would do to save their lives. They'd always been ones to stand and fight to the end for their lives, no matter how beneficial other means may have been. Even on the odd occasion that Soren had suggested otherwise during the war, Ike always took the more honorable route when it presented itself. There was simply no other way he could live, which Geoffrey could only assume he owed to the influence Ike's father had on his life.

Which meant the odds of them lying were slim. Which meant dressing as a woman and other such degrading acts had purpose. Which, even for someone as courageous and loyal as Geoffrey, terrified him to the core. No man should take dressing up as a woman in stride, after all.

At long last he came across a door lined with golden embroidery and other pretty little details, extravagant work that stated the room belonged to the Duke. It was made of wood no better than any of the other doors in the castle and was thus just as easy to eavesdrop through, and it was unguarded to boot – much to Geoffrey's surprise, though reason made itself known when he considered how suspicious placing guards outside the door to your room would be. Pressing his ear to the door he listened closely for any sort of sound and, upon hearing none, slowly opened the door, stepping through and pressing it to a close behind him. The room was empty and unlit, the bed along the far wall unoccupied. Paintings lined the two side walls, and a door in the nearby corner immediately occupied Geoffrey's attention. Mainly because there was a faint light poking out from beneath the door.

"... Should have known Geoffrey would be in league with them," somebody's voice was faintly heard through the door as Geoffrey pressed his ear ever so lightly to it. Ludveck's, Geoffrey determined immediately.

"If they are alive," A pause, in which the voice of the new speaker was too low for Geoffrey to pick up, "... And kill them?"

"No, we'd... without her support," Ludveck replied, his voice suddenly considerably lower, though still loud enough to be mostly heard from Geoffrey's position.

Suspicious.

"We need her support," Ludveck went on, and Geoffrey knew fully well what they were talking about now. Not that it had been hard to figure out before. "From where they are... will be hard."

As suddenly as Ludveck's voice had dropped, the other person's voice fell to an impossibly low whisper and from there so did Ludveck's, making hearing them further quite impossible. Almost as if they... 'Oh, no...' Geoffrey shuffled back away from the door before turning on his heel and making a silent dash for the door leading back out into the hallway, throwing it open as quickly as he could without making noise. He shut it closed behind him before dashing down the hall back the way he came, stealth all but forgotten in his haste to escape what could potentially be a really bad situation. His lack of regard for stealth seemed to mean little as he rounded a corner, coming face to face with a line of Crimean soldiers, lances held outward in a very effective blockade.

"Isn't it degrading of a knight to sneak around?" a better armed soldier, presumably the leader of this particular squad, asked mockingly.

"Isn't it degrading of a soldier to follow a rebellious Duke?" Geoffrey countered, idly gripping at the handle of the short sword at his side. The handle felt cold against his fingers and he longed to tighten his grip, swing it through a few soldiers and be blessed with the searing fire that would surely course through him afterwards. But acting so rashly would be foolish, and of all the things Geoffrey was, foolish was not one of them. Swift to judge when emotion became a factor perhaps – he would not hesitate to act so rashly were it his queen threatened in such a manner as he – but not foolish.

"What is degrading about showing loyalty? We soldiers don't need to worry about what the higher ups want; we get all we need by showing our devotion to them regardless."

Geoffrey slowly began to edge his sword from its sheath, carefully eyeing the soldiers before him as they tightened their grips on their lances, ready for any sudden movement. With a sudden twist he leaped at the wall, kicking off of it and propelling himself toward the leader of the group, sword poised for a lethal thrust. No lances could move fast enough to prevent the assault. The man's eyes went wide with terror as the sword pierced the armor over his heart, through the thin mail beneath and piercing the flesh beyond. His teeth nearly shattered from the force of his grinding, determined not to show weakness even as life began to fade from his body. With one final, shaky breath, he collapsed to the ground, taking Geoffrey's sword with him.

"C-captain!" A soldier threw off his helm to review the face of a boy no older than sixteen, face contorted into unspeakable rage as he glowered at Geoffrey. The thought briefly occurred to Geoffrey that the boy was young enough that it was possible that he had been a role model to the boy, but he swiftly dismissed the thought.

Geoffrey pulled his sword from the captain's corpse, shaking off any blood that would come free, and took a fighting stance. "As Commander of the Crimean Royal Knights, I will be your opponent."

* * *

The Yie Outpost was hardly abuzz, as most settlements of its large size would be. The streets were empty, devoid of even the slightest movement. It would have been surprising to see anyone, indeed. But that didn't help stave off the sense of foreboding that crept up Micaiah's spine as she beheld the empty streets, the sand settling upon the ground and the signs blowing in a wind most eerie. If she were willing to succumb to childish thoughts, she would have compared this settlement to a ghost town. And as it was, that wasn't far from the truth.

Sothe had already led everyone else off in search of a place to stay. It had quickly grown apparent that the heat grew only stronger as they pushed further into the desert, and it had been a growing fear that the heat may eventually sap them of both the strength and will to go on. Even now the heat made Micaiah's knees quiver. Sweat poured over her body without relent, and the knowledge that water was nigh on impossible to find – only the group's quickly exhausting water reserve was accessible – thus making bathing not an option didn't help. Her skin was sticky from previously dried sweat and her hair was matted to her on all sides, no longer the silky tresses she normally was known for. Filthy was an apt description, and her only comfort was that everyone else was as bad off as she was.

Micaiah suddenly felt the familiar sensation of her fabled powers coming forth. Her mind's eye showed her a large fortress. On the horizon flew the flags of Begnion, the blaring of horns signaling their swift advance on the fortress. There were no signs of any actual fortifications at the fortress; no soldiers were visible, and the fortress itself wasn't entirely whole either. Of her visions, this was certainly a rather vague one. But the sense of dread that followed that vision was not lost upon her. Following that vague vision were a series of different ones: a soldier and a bulky knight clashing blades, a man bearing raven hair and mage-like robes standing before a small crowd of people, and countless other increasingly vague images. Beyond the raw emotion felt by those in her visions, it was impossible to tell just what each one meant. But the hope felt in every one filled her with such a renewed resolve that it was hard to imagine those images foretelling tragedy.

"To the south..." she murmured, spining on her heel to face the desert beyond their secure haven. The distance was blocked from sight by what seemed to be a scorching sandstorm, the sand itself a bloody red, creating a flaring sandstorm that appeared capable of burning through any foolish trespassers. "Our destiny lies to the south."

Her foresight had long been a powerful ally to them. When they needed despair most it was always there, alerting them of impending danger and granting them the opportunity to avert it. It was only due to this power that they hadn't been caught by Begnion long ago, in fact. They owed much to this power, Micaiah herself most of all. And so the concept that their greatest ally was now directing them into the desert once more, where they would surely come to the brink of death in their search for salvation, did not bother her in the slightest. Her newfound determination diminished not before this fact. Whatever the cost, they had to finish their journey. There was no turning back, of course.

"Micaiah?" It was Sothe, naturally. Nobody else ever dared intrude upon her more solemn moments, as he certainly had just done. The soft footsteps of her friend were heard as he approached her from behind, resting a hand upon her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"We have to move on," Micaiah said, as if speaking to herself. Were he not used to this happening occasionally, Sothe would have thought she'd not even noticed his presence. "Back out into the desert," Micaiah added as an afterthought, looking now over her shoulder at Sothe.

"Did you see something?" Sothe asked, idly moving his hand in a back and forth motion over Micaiah's shoulder. Her posture relaxed as his idle movements aided in the removal of months' worth of pent up stress. The feeling was borderline maddening.

"... Yeah," Micaiah replied, finding it more than a little difficult given the sensation running through her tensed muscles. "Far to the south. Begnion is marching."

"They'd come out this far to get us, huh..." Sothe sighed, shaking his head. "But why so far out? Surely they know that we wouldn't have gotten that far."

"It isn't us they point their weapons at."

"Who is it, then?"

"I don't know. I saw a small group of people, a man in thick silver armor, and a boy no older than you. It is safe to assume they were part of this group."

Sothe tapped a finger to his chin, "Silver armor... only a handful of people have armor like what you're talking about. A number of them served Daein. Do you think we should check this out?"

Micaiah nodded, "Regardless, we gain nothing by staying here. In the morning we leave, and we will see where we should go next after that."

And sure enough, they left by morning's first light – although it was rather hard to find that first light in the midst of a furious sandstorm. Nailah and Volug led the way, guiding the group through the narrow passageways of sand dune-made valleys that seemed to expand far into the horizon. Traveling was slow, but the shade provided by the sand dunes' massive sizes – something accounted for by Nailah, Micaiah presumed – made surviving the desert much easier. Not having a sun blazing down on your back the entire way was a blessing. Sand continued to billow around them and cloud their vision dangerously, but that did little to damper the possitive outlook everyone had on this considerably cooler day of travel.

By mid-day Yie was a small blip far off in the distance, nearly out of sight entirely. Micaiah directed the brigade to a pause beneath the shade of a particularly large sand dune, relishing in the comfort it provided. The sandstorms that plague the desert had died to a minor annoyance, and for the first time since they stepped foot on the sandy terrain the brigade could feel truly at ease. Only Nailah and Volug refused to relax, bounding to and fro and keeping a watch most tight, as if fearing that not doing so would put the safety of the entire brigade at risk. While that technically was a possibility, Micaiah could tell simply by their surroundings that they were in no immediate danger. But if only to prevent the risk of insulting their newfound companions, she refrained from saying anything of the sort. As friendly as Nailah was – and subsequently, how unlikely it was that she would take any offense to such a remark – the mere prospect of running that risk and putting herself on bad terms with two very powerful wolves was hardly appealing.

"We've made good distance," she heard Nolan muse. He was looking toward the sky, staring almost mockingly at the sun that was helpless against his hatred. He then looks toward Sothe, who was in the process of unpacking a small amount of food and two small canteens of water, both looking rather low. Nolan accepted one of the small canteens offered, taking a tiny sip. He stared in mild shock at the canteen and turned it upside down, shaking it for extra emphasis when nothing came out. "We'd better not have much farther to go," he said grimly, tossing the canteen aside.

"We don't," Nailah responded, taking a seat next to Micaiah and giving a hardened stare to Nolan, who fidgets nervously under the unintentionally feral eyes. "The smell of iron is in the air; there is fighting just due south of here." Nolan sniffed at the air, well aware that the scent was something only a Laguz could hope to pick up on, and Nailah chuckled. "Enjoy your meal. Those soldiers aren't going anywhere."

Sothe glanced at Nailah warily, still digging through the small pack on the ground in front of him. "They aren't?"

"Whoever they are fighting is very strong. The smell of death in that area is strong, and theres no way that much death is their enemy," Nailah explained.

"That man in the silver armor," Micaiah says suddenly to herself. Catching Nailah's confused glance, Micaiah asks, "I don't imagine you got close enough to see anyone?"

Nailah laughed richly, throwing her head back as it became especially loud. "Heavens no! I am strong, even amongst my people, but to get so recklessly close to an entire army? Not even I could hope to escape with my life."

Micaiah nodded and turned to Sothe, continuing her questioning, "Was there anyone in Daein with enough strength to hold off an entire army with ease that fits the description?"

Sothe nodded eagerly, "As I said, only a handful in Tellius had armor like that. Amongst those in Daein, only the strongest did. One of them was General Tauroneo, a friend of mine."

"Do you think this is him?"

"If Ashnard's son is out here and Begnion is attacking him, I can safely say that Tauroneo would be amongst those fighting for Daein's liberation. Its a good shot."

Micaiah jumped to her feet suddenly, glancing all around their makeshift encampment, devoid of anything that would actually make it an encampment. "Sothe, get everyone fed quickly – we leave as soon as possible. I have a bad feeling about that battle, and something tells me we will find what we are looking for there."

"Take this!" Tauroneo cried, driving his lance into yet another unlucky soldier. Nearby another corpse dropped to the ground, having been lifted and carried off by Jill, only to be dropped in a bloody heap. Jill's victorious cry was enough to make any soldiers in the immediate vicinity flinch, and Tauroneo seized that opening to drive his lance into the gut of another soldier, pleased with the lack of effort it took to breach their armor. With a strangled cry that soldier fell as well. "Jill, what can you see?" he called, bringing up his shield just in time to deflect an arrow. The offending projectile clanged off his shield and fell to the ground harmlessly.

"A group approaches from the north!" she called in reply. Her wyvern began a sharp descent, the shining green scales of its long tail momentarily blinding many, and swings her axe in a carefully calculated motion. Despite the seeming difficulty of the assault, she cleanly rendered a soldier headless with what seemed to be no effort at all. Before she could fall under attack – for all of its ferocity, her wyvern was hardly the most durable of their motley crew – she began a rapid ascent, bringing herself to rest safely beyond the reach of even the best archers. From there she called down to Tauroneo once more, "They fly no flags! They don't belong to Begnion! What do you think Tauroneo, Zihark?"

Zihark was in the midst of dancing amongst a group of soldiers, fighting with both his sword and its sheath in a skilled synchronization. His hair flew every which way and he looked only more elegant for it. His leather garments were hardly any more protective than the hide of Jill's wyvern, and there were splotches of blood where a soldier had gotten a lucky hit or an arrow had struck home. He didn't seem to notice these minor wounds, moving with the same graceful speed he had all along. Soldiers fell like flies around him, struck down by his blade while his sheath worked on staving off attacks from his unprotected side. It was a makeshift defense at best, but when his blinding speed was a factor defense was a secondary issue.

"Keep an eye on them," Zihark said at last, cutting himself off with a rather dramatic grunt as his sword dug into another foe. "It could be a trap."

Tauroneo roared as he swiped his lance from left to right, knocking down soldiers in a well placed line and systematically slaughtering them by way of a definitive thrust through their stomach. "Zihark's right; keep an eye on them, and go identify them if you have an opening."

Everything grew painfully silent. Only the sounds of clashing weapons and a roaring wyvern remained. The cries of soldiers as they fell were heard, but they were brief and growing fewer and farther between. Rather than taking on the blitzing tactic they had been using, they backed off and spread themselves out, making their advances more concentrated and cautious. It did nothing to help them offensively, but the defense they formed was formidable indeed. The soldiers that did advance had enough room to do so with their shields raised, and when they attacked they struck their lances out and around their shields. Zihark inevitably pulled back, realizing the disadvantage he faced, leaving the advancing soldiers to move solely on Tauroneo, who was more than ready to meet them.

From there, everything happened so fast it was a blur. The soldiers all attacked at once and Tauroneo struggled to fend off seven lances with his own and his shield. With a calculated swing of his shield he broke the head off one lance, and another was removed from a soldier's grasp as he smacked it hard with the butt of his lance. The two unfortunate soldiers turned tail and ran immediately. Meanwhile, amidst all the chaos taking place around Tauroneo, a whole other chaos formed to the north. Cries broke out in quick succession, steel clanging was heard and claws rending made themselves known. From Jill's literal bird's eye view, it seemed as though the recent arrivals had taken the theoretical form of a large knife, cleaving their way through the Begnion ranks like butter. How they did that, given their numbers, was a mystery.

Volug was leading the charge through the Begnion ranks, dipping and lunging at any foe foolish enough to be caught in his sight. This left many soldiers on either side of him that were swept up in the following charge; Aran, Nolan and Edward cut their way through at a much slower pace, aided by the magical aid provided by Ilyana and Micaiah and the archery of Leonardo. There was no rhyme to the destruction wrought by their assault; each soldier was taken by surprise just as much as the one before and fell before they could properly defend themselves. The occasional soldier was able to put up a sound defense, but there was simply no resisting the momentum with which the Dawn Brigade moved.

"Drive toward the fortress!" Micaiah was bellowing. She threw her arm in the air, allowing a large globe of energy to form over her enemies. Slowly it descended and then exploded, catching several soldiers in its oddly destructive power. Screams of sheer agony drowned any other noises. Undisturbed by the agony she had just brought upon no less than six soldiers, Micaiah picked up the pace with which she ran. The vanguard of their small group had already nearly cleaved through the entirety of the enemy's left flank, leaving just the stragglers for Micaiah, Ilyana and Sothe – Laura kept her distance from the fighting as a whole, and the rest were far ahead.

"Micaiah, I can see the knight you spoke of!" Sothe called, Rounding a particularly large piece of rubble, the entrance to the run down fortress came into view and, sure enough, there stood the knight, crying out in outrage as he swung and defended himself in simultaneous movements. Even without the armor Micaiah surmised the man beneath to be rather bulky; even with the armor, he was far too large for the case to be otherwise. She was pleased to find that his cries were not the normal ones of exhilaration, from the thrill of the kill. Rather they seemed to be ragged, lacking any emphasis whatsoever. His cries were of despair, of having to partake in such heartless acts of violence. Beyond those noises he made he showed no signs of being bothered, as is the wont of any good soldier. Showing telltale emotion toward killing was simply unforgivable.

"Can you make out who it is?" Micaiah asked. Sothe didn't answer immediately, throwing a knife that impaled itself in the throat of a nearing soldier.

"I can't be sure, but again, I have a good idea. Lets not worry about that though – he is our ally, at least for now. Whether he is or isn't who I'm thinking, he requires our aid."

"True enough," Micaiah conceded. A roar echoed overhead suddenly, bringing Micaiah out of her thoughtful trance. She quickly threw open her tome and readied herself for a brutal – if strange – fight with a wyvern. Sothe stopped her with a single glance.

"She is on our side," he said quietly. Taking Micaiah's hand he led her quickly toward the fortress, protected overhead by the wyvern rider's watchful eyes.

"You know her?" Micaiah asked, allowing herself to be dragged, if only for the moment.

"Only one person has a rare green wyvern like that. Thats Jill, I'm sure of it," Sothe answered. He suddenly tossed Micaiah lightly to the side and brought a knife up in defense, narrowly saving himself from what would have been a very dangerous slash to the chest, possibly fatal. In what seemed to be an impossibly fast movement he lunged forward, driving his knife into the swordsman's chest. When the man's muscles went lax Sothe pressed the attack, driving his knife in at three different places, resulting in the man collapsing in a pool of his own blood. "Let's clean things up here, eh, Micaiah?"

Similarly, Micaiah spun around Sothe before coming face to face with a massively armored knight – for lack of a better term. The knight in question was covered from head to toe in armor that put Meg's defenses to shame, making the knight seem well over seven feet tall. He was holding a large axe that he spun in his grip every so often so as not to numb his grip while slowly advancing on Micaiah. As a rather crude defense Micaiah threw her arm up, mumbling enchantments rather hastily under her breath. A familiar ball of light energy formed over the knight, slowly descending upon him. On contact it viciously exploded, sending light rending through his armor, leaving all the thick armor that would have blunted any weapon set against it useless. The knight collapsed with a resounding thud.

Micaiah grinned at Sothe's surprised expression, "Alright, let's clean up."

* * *

It had been a thoughtful gesture on the part of Begnion to leave small Daein settlements like Amel intact, given their otherwise harsh occupation, Ike decided. A confusing gesture that went against just about everything the Occupation Army stood for, but thoughtful all the same.

Amel was a small town with little to it's name, save for the aforementioned independence. It was little more than the size of the marketplace at Melior, but it had a quaint feel of sheer poverty – though not the bad sort of the word – that had Ike at ease. The stuffy, upper class locales always had him on edge, like a dog eating from fine silver dishes. As lavish as they were and as deserving as Ike was of the land's kindness, it just wasn't for him – he had learned that the hard way when he left Crimea's Royal Court. It was for that reason that settling down for a night of rest in Amel made him feel like he was home, even if this particular home was amongst people who probably hated him far more than he hated them.

Of course, this independent village had it's faults, of course. If Begnion felt so inclined, it would be no surprise to Ike if they were willing to raze the village to the ground on a whim, simply to satisfy themselves. This was human nature, Ike had learned – rather harshly at that. If Begnion felt truly threatened, a few Daein citizens, who were clearly below them in every way, would mean nothing to them. They would destroy Amel without remorse if it was for what they deemed to be the right reasons.

In a small tavern rooted deeply in the village – though this may have been because it was the only tavern Amel had been blessed with – Ike waited. He sat with his feet resting along the wooden table before him, watching passers-by outside the window with a detatched sort of interest. People noticed his stares and would often grace him with a look in return, but all sped up their pace as soon as they recognized him. They all did. Even the patrons dared no approach him, fearing him to be some sort of foul demon sent by the Goddesses to rain terror upon them. Ike felt a slight twinge of insult at that, though he couldn't deny the possibility of those words three years ago. And wounds like that were not easily healed.

Ike idly began running his finger along the shoulder plate extending from the crook of his neck to beyond his shoulder, looking more like a potential weapon than a piece of armor when it came to a sharp point. He probably wouldn't be so feared if he actually looked normal, he mused. But even if people could get over the sheer size of his body – nobody that hadn't grown up fighting could have a body like his, he figured – the fact that he was armored at all times was probably more than a little daunting. And then there was the swords he used, though he was unarmed at the moment, that put just about any weapon in existance to shame. Who could reasonably carry a sword bigger than half of an average person's body, with a single hand no less, anyway?

Only Ike. Well, perhaps the Black Knight, but everyone knew what had become of him, for his folly in challenging Ike.

Ike perked up when he caught sight of what had clearly been what he was waiting for. The wooden table cried out in protest as he lifted himself onto it, crouching low and watching intently. Like a predator stalking it's pray he remained still, eyes scanning the streets with renewed purpose. Patrons and customers alike followed his gaze with interest, only to go rigidly to attention when they caught sight of the white armor, complete with the golden embroidery that they both knew and trembled before. A small red gem was planted in the chest of the white suit of armor, and the soldier beneath the suit of armor looked to be rather annoyed as he paced about, eyes scanning from side to side every so often, looking.

When his gaze locked with Ike's, he pounced. Glass shattered loudly as Ike leaped through it, reaching and tackling the soldier to the ground before he could react. In a matter of seconds Ike had him pinned beneath him, and Shinon stood over Ike, pointing an arrow in the soldier's face. Ike grunted and rolled to the side, jumping to his feet a moment later and taking his place beside Shinon. Keeping his eye on the soldier at all times, Shinon carefully kept his bow strung as it was lifted over his head, granting a few fingers the opportunity to release the ponytail holding his hair together. The long strands of auburn hair flowed over his back with an elegance unfitting of the brusque man, looking wholly unkempt and messy from lengthy periods of time contained within a ponytail.

"This the one?" Shinon asked, glowering at the still stunned soldier beneath him.

"Duke Ludveck is getting more eager," Ike noted wryly, kicking a small bit of dirt into the soldier's face. "We can expect to see more like this guy crossing the border soon."

Shinon nodded, "So what do we do with this idiot?"

Ike smirked as he looked at Shinon. Despite the fragility of their relationship, both had a sort of unspoken like for one thing. Ike grabbed the soldier harshly and pulled him to his feet, tossng him toward Shinon dismissively. "We can get answers from him. You need an outlet, so you take care of him."

Shinon wasn't about to deny that opportunity, nodding, trying to look as detached as possible. Wordlessly he grabbed the soldier's helmet and tore it from his head, revealing a man not much older than Shinon himself, with short cut brown hair and dull eyes befitting of a soldier. The soldier's eyes widened as his hair was grabbed harshly, and then he was off, dragged down the street behind Shinon. Ike watched them for a moment before turning toward the tavern, sending a look toward one of the men working behind the bar. Shaking with fear the man rushed out to Ike's side, fearing a rather harsh assault, Ike assumed. Instead all he got was a small pouch placed in his hand, the weight of a ripe apple at most.

"For the window," Ike said by way explanation, turning on his heel and walking away. Calling over his shoulder, he added, "I'm not a demon sent by the Goddesses, and I'm not going to hurt Daeins by instinct. Take care."

The tavern fell into a very awkward silence as each person individually weighed the words of their mortal enemy, the commander of the army that had subjugated them with an ease that seemed nearly impossible at the time. Granted they now saw the true strength of the man who had subjugated them, and despite their better wishes saw just why he was able to lay waste to their armies and conquer their land in so short a time. And they now had another face to plant on the feared mercenary: a strangely kind individual, even if the way he showed that kindness was strange in nature.

Ike took his time strolling through the rather empty streets of the run down town, eyes scanning from side to side every now and then. Luckily, save for that one case the streets had been refreshingly devoid of Crimean soldiers. Even so, he knew it wouldn't be long before they arrived. A scout was often a clear sign of that, and Soren's suspicion that they were being followed – which had, coincidentally, been why they stopped in Amel in the first place – didn't help the situation any. In the distance he could see the slightly higher roof of the small town inn where they had opted to stay. He pushed his way through the doorway and climbed the stairs extending to the second floor, taking passing notice of the lack of furnishings or even decoration in the stone-built inn.

The door to his immediate right upon reaching the second floor was his own. The room beyond was hardly big enough for him alone, with a small bed in the corner, a desk in the opposite corner, and a small bookshelf beside the door. Laying on the bed was his sword, all but jumping with anxiety for it's wielder's touch. Ike slung the sword onto his shoulder with a soft grunt, oddly relieved to feel his fingers around it once again. He gave it a few practise swings, narrowly missing the desk and bookshelf as he did, before setting it on the ground. The sword remained upright when he removed his hand and, satisfied that his sword would wait for him, Ike fell back on his bed. Now, all there was left to do was wait...

"Ike." So much for that idea.

"What is it, Soren?" Ike asked. His eyes opened ever so slightly and his brow creased in frustration, but he kept his voice even and toneless. "I took care of the scout. Shinon is interrogating him now."

Soren snorted, tapping his foot impatiently, "So you are going to lie here and do nothing?"

Ike shrugged, "I'd rather relax and be able to fight later than be on my feet doing nothing."

"Gatrie and Mist are tending to searching the city for more scouts. Couldn't you at least do that?"

"I ---"

"Ike!" The door was thrown aside as Boyd charged in, axe slung on his shoulder and panic evident in his features. "The city is burning! Crimean soldiers have the perimeter surrounded!"

As though struck with a sudden jolt of energy, Ike jumped to his feet, eyes hardening into a contemptuous glare. "Get Rhys and Mia, and tell them to find somewhere to evacuate the citizens to."

"Gotcha," Boyd nodded, taking off.

"Soren," Ike started, turning toward his advisor. Without even needing to be told, Soren nodded.

"Our mercenaries are too spread out to gather together, but we can at least worry about an escape route. I'll tend to that."

As soon as Soren had left, Ike hefted his sword out of the ground and onto his shoulder. As he descended the stairs and made his way toward the foyer, tenants gave him frightened glances, eyeing his sword warily. He ignored them until he was out on the streets once again – and far too soon for his liking. Thick smoke rose from burning rooftops, and agonized cries filled the air. Ike tuned them out as best he could while he tore off down the street, keeping an eye out for any overextended soldiers. His legs felt like feathers beneath him while he ran, unencumbered by the armor clinging tightly to his shins and thighs. As a soldier struck out from around a corner, Ike was able to lithely dance around the poised lance and decapitate the poor man with a clean swing across the chest.

Soren wasn't far behind, much to Ike's bemusement. A funnel of wind swung past his face and tore an offending soldier from the ground, ripping the very armor from his body and digging into his flesh before tossing him aside. Ike followed Soren's attack with one of his own, charging into the fray of a rather large group of soldiers and mercilessly cutting through them, one after the other. He ducked under a spear flying at him from the left and spun around a thrusting lance from the right, swinging all the while. His arms felt lighter than ever as the adrenaline of a good battle overtook any possible exhaustion, giving him a sense of fulfillment every time he was sprayed with the blood of a dying soldier. Just lovely.

Reality began to blur for Ike, who saw only the next foe to be rended by his sword. The only thing that mattered was the feel of his sword digging it's way into flesh and steel, to rob soldiers of their life with heartless ease. Was he finally going mad? Was his constant fighting finally beginning to try his sanity? Ike had pondered this before, but never at length. He did have some measure of sanity, he knew, but he was beginning to wonder how long that would last. This worry became all the more relevant, now that he was painfully aware of the fact that he longed to feel the numbing sensation of a good kill. There truly was no going back to a peaceful life. Not now.

"Ike, control yourself!" he heard Soren cry, reprimanding, but he heeded him not. He feared the consequences of not obeying this bloodlust far too greatly. He gritted his teeth in rage as his sword came to clash with another, and with an effortless display of strength he tossed the man aside and stomped hard on his skull, killing him instantly. Soldiers continued to crowd around, numbering at least twenty – far more than Soren had initially anticipated, given how many already lay dead throughout the small town. Each soldier held strong despite quivering visibly in fear. That fear brought Ike back to his senses harshly and he stopped, ducking low just in time to avoid a thrust that otherwise would have impaled him through the chest or worse.

"Soren, are there any openings to escape?" Ike asked raggedly, fighting to catch his breath.

"Our best bet is to break through here and escape north. We will die if we try to fight for much longer," was Soren's detached response, as though the possibility of impending doom were nothing more than a small unexpected development.

Ike nodded as he ducked under another thrust. With his free hand he grabbed the shaft of the lance and reeled the soldier in, decapitating him with a swift slash across the neck. "Where are everyone else?"

"I imagine they came to the same conclusion we have. Let's just worry about getting out of here, then look for everyone else."

Ike nodded as he took up arms once again, cleaving through the wall of soldiers before him. But they were resilient, replacing each of their fallen with another. Even the aid of Soren's incantations and searing magic didn't alleviate the situation any, and Ike soon found that hopes of moving in any direction would soon be lost. If they didn't break through soon, they would be...

"Ike, move!" Ike ducked just in time, watching as many blade-shaped gusts of wind tore at the enemy, cleaving through them like butter. Ike seized the moment presented and pressed the attack, searching for the other side of the blockade like a diver would search for the water's surface. Even fueled by adrenaline Ike couldn't shake off the growing ache now present in his arms, crying out to him for rest. But he knew better. His arms would never have rest. So long as there was conflict, his blade would be needed. This, at least, would never change. He had been born and raised with a sword in his hand, and so it was natural that he was cursed to die the same way. It was the only way a man such as him could live.

Right?

* * *

Sothe grunted with effort as he pulled a small knife from the neck of a disembodied soldier. Blood poured from the opening left in the knife's wake and stained the ground below it. The unfortunate soldier was none the wiser, having already been done in by a brutal smash to the side of the head via Nolan's axe. Next to Sothe, Ilyana was ravenously devouring an apple, and Sothe found himself envying her ability to do so in the middle of a bloodied battlefield. Something about having a snack while surrounded by the still bleeding corpses of countless enemies had Sothe at odds, though there was no denying the convenience in being capable of doing so. Or maybe Ilyana's abnormal appetite overcame any ill feelings toward her surroundings.

Around him, people ran about frantically, gathering any supplies that could be salvaged from the Begnion soldiers and mages that lay around. It was a dishonorable thing to do, Sothe knew, but given their situation he could not find it in him to be disgusted by the necessity to do so. Any weapons, be they refined spears or dulled bladed, were taken in, as were any tomes and medicine that could be secured. Much of the medicine was immediately spent on the wounds accumulated over the course of the brutal battle, with Laura doing her fair share as well. Micaiah had expressed a desire to aid as well, but Sothe hadn't been alone in forcing her to abandon the idea. Nobody had the energy to do much more than drag their feet, and Micaiah's Sacrifice was rather counterproductive in her own resting.

Such thoughts were not easy on Sothe's mind, however, and he eagerly dismissed them. With his knife he drew a small design into the exposed chest of the dead soldier beneath him; an arrowhead pointing upward, and a small cross. To anyone who may have looked, it would seem to be little more than a random drawing, a strange prayer to some unspoken God.

"What is that?" Ilyana asked, startling Sothe with her presence, her head visible from the corner of his eye, hovering a couple inches over his shoulder.

"A curse," Sothe answered, gritting his teeth as he spat to the side, taking care to miss both the man's body and his blood. "It is a prayer as well though, I suppose."

"What does it mean?" she asked in turn. Her curiosity surprised Sothe, though he opted not to show it.

"It is a request that the Goddesses pass judgment on him for his crimes. I put it on anyone I kill, time providing." Sothe sighed and stood, turning toward Ilyana slowly. "Begnion has been cruel in their occupation for three years. Rather than blame just their highest ups, I like to believe that every one of their soldiers is to blame as well, for accepting it all. They all need the opportunity to repent, in this world or elsewhere."

Were Sothe any more sure of his ability to read Ilyana's expressions from one pitiful gaze to another, he would have claimed that he saw a hint of sadness directed toward him in her lidded eyes. As it was he was hardly sure of what could be considered emotion with Ilyana, save for the frown cutely forming on her face. "Do you not hate Begnion? For doing what they have done?"

"Why should I?" Sothe asked, crossing his arms. With his hands he twirled the knives held in each, always catching them expertly by the handle once again. "Three years ago, Daein was no better than Begnion is now. Back then, we both fought alongside Begnion to crush Daein. I do not approve of their treatment of Daeins, but I do not hate them for it. If I did, I would have to hate myself as well."

Ilyana's lips flipped upward into a tiny smile, though despite that her words were no more than a simple, "I see." Nonplussed and not entirely pleased Sothe raised an eyebrow, prompting her to say something else. This proved to be a bad idea however, when she chirped rather happily, "Do you have food?"

Despite himself Sothe chuckled, but rather than answer he turned and made to walk away. Ilyana's footsteps resounded against stone behind him, loud enough to be heard but soft enough to elaborate on just how weak of body the frail woman truly was. Sothe reached into a pouch tied to his side and pulled out a small loaf of bread. Giving it a once over he knew at once he was still in no mood to eat, and with a sigh of regret he tossed it over his shoulder, listening with amusement to Ilyana's shocked cry, followed by a second cry portraying something akin to complete bliss. And then the trailing footsteps ceased, Ilyana occupied as she was with her new meal. Not unlike a pet, Sothe thought, immediately regretting the correlation.

Against the wall by the small fort's sole entrance was Tauroneo, fraught with cuts across his face and dents in his armor. It had been surprising enough for him to come out alive at all, but to see him so relatively unharmed reminded Sothe swiftly just how strong the many people whom had fought by his side three years ago were. Among them, Tauroneo had been one of the best. A master of just about any weapon placed in his hands, and almost unaffected by the lack of mobility his bulky armor provided. Had he not seen it with his own eyes in the Daein Keep, Sothe would have been unable to believe that anyone was capable of matching Ike in terms of raw speed and swordplay, and yet, Tauroneo had done so easily, fighting Ike to a draw. Few were so frightening as he.

"Tauroneo," Sothe acknowledged with a tilt of the head. Tauroneo's war scarred eyes were drawn to Sothe slowly, and they widened before masking any surprise.

"You've grown," Tauroneo stated. He pushed away from the wall and clapped a hand on Sothe's shoulder, smiling fondly. "Jill told us that the Silver Haired Maiden had come and that Little Sothe was with her, but when I saw you, I just couldn't believe it – you were unrecognizable, to say the least. You are not the same tiny boy you were but three years ago."

"You aren't the first to say that," Sothe muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and fore finger.

"And he won't be the last," a voice chimed from behind. Sothe turned on his heel as Tauroneo chuckled, watching Zihark wrap an arm around Sothe's shoulder, a gesture that would have been far less awkward had it been from the back as intended. "You've grown."

"Great to see you again too, Zihark," Sothe seethed, shaking Zihark's arm from him violently. Then, composing himself into an indifferent mask, he asked, "Why are you here?"

"Daein is my home, too," Zihark defended.

"I pegged you to prioritize your love for Laguz," Sothe stated, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, yeah," Zihark chuckled, "but Tauroneo here wanted to gather helpers in starting up an army to reclaim Daein, and asked me. He may be able to take a beating, but I don't think Tauroneo would be able to revive Daein alone, y'know?"

"If anyone could, it would be him," Sothe laughed. Tauroneo's booming laughter cut off their worship of his defensive prowess, and Sothe was jerked forward by a violent – unintentionally so – pat on the back. Breaking through an impending coughing fit, Sothe carefully asked, "So why are you guys here anyway?"

"Defending the Mad King's son," Zihark said, with no small amount of disdain at the mention of Daein's fallen king.

"Language, Zihark," Tauroneo chided. "But yes, Prince Pelleas is within these walls."

"So he is here, then..." All eyes fell promptly on the latest addition to their small party: Micaiah. Her hair was tousled and blood dried in small splotches along her face, but by comparison to her comrades she was relatively well off. Sothe couldn't help noticing how her breathing was heavy and how it came in short pants, however hard she may have tried to hide it. "What sort of man is he?"

"I imagine you are here for that purpose, maiden, so you shall learn for yourself before long," Tauroneo answered cryptically. "Provided you would be willing to fight with us, of course."

"I would have it no other way. I am Micaiah, and I would rather be referred to as such, rather than some Silver Haired Maiden." Micaiah held a hand out in offering that Tauroneo grasped immediately.

"And I am Tauroneo, a former General of Daein. I must have you know, however, that I am ashamed to admit my part in Daein being as it is now," Tauroneo responded in kind.

"Tauroneo, are you sure you should be making this decision?" Zihark asked warilly. "After all, our tactician is..."

"--- Right here. Now what has Tauroneo gone and done without sending word?" Sothe was unable to keep a growl from escaping his throat as he turned toward the supposed tactician. The tactician in question, an old man with a countenance that was unmistakable sinister, with wrinkled skin and a scowl that seemed permanantly plastered on his face. He walked with a slight limp and remained hunched over at all times. "And who are you two?"

Rather than answer, Sothe grabbed the old man by the collar of his dark colored, loose fitting robes and pressed him hard against the stone wall of the fort, growling dangerously, "Why are you here, Izuka?"

"Sothe!" Micaiah cried exasperatedly. "Stop it!"

"I won't!" Sothe shouted back, tightening his grip on Izuka's collar. "This man experimented on Laguz! He created the Feral Ones! He is scum!"

"To know all that," Izuka growled, "You must be a Begnion spy! Aren't you?!"

"I am not," Sothe responded, suspiciously calmly. "But I fought alongside them in the Liberation Army at Gritnea Tower, three years ago. The things you did there, the horrors you committed, were disgusting!"

"Sothe, stop it," Tauroneo pleaded, placing a hand on the young man's shoulder. "I know how you feel, but Izuka is a wise man. While I feel no better than you about the past, we must accept that he is a wise tactician and can help us."

"Do so if you will, but I refuse," Sothe stated defiantly. "I will not work with a man such as him."

"Hmph, as if I care," Izuka spat, wiggling out of Sothe's grasp. "I care not if we have the aid of a few children. Children who associate themselves with their country's enemy, no less!"

"Associate ourselves with Begnion?" Sothe raised an eyebrow questioningly. "We are the Dawn Brigade. And we would sooner die than work with them, worm."

As could have been expected of such a man as Izuka, his personality did a quick roundabout and suddenly he was standing within inches of Micaiah, studying her critically despite her outraged cry of disgust. "The Dawn Brigade, hmm? Then you would be the Silver Haired Maiden... the healing touch of Sacrifice and... yes! Prince Pelleas can use you! You should be honored."

"... Excuse me?" Micaiah muttered, frowning. "He can use us?"

"And we should be honored by you telling us so?" Sothe added.

"But of course!" Izuka cried, as though the concept were one so obvious it was deserving of his clearly condescending attitude. To him, it probably was. "I dare say it was fate! Nay, perhaps my unrivaled skill in all things revolutionary and organized? Having the Silver Haired Maiden is a wonderful boon! We can win over the populace, and then... incite rebellion... topple the country... bring change, revolution... reconstruction... yes! I can make all this possible!"

"Sothe?" Micaiah asked softly, timidly. "Is he... sane?"

"I'd be all the more insulted if he was. No sane man can do what he has done."

Meanwhile, Izuka had taken to proving Sothe's point rather well. "Why, it's perfect! I will beckon – no, demand – that the foolish Senators surrender! It would be all so simple!" Suddenly he turned toward Micaiah, his eyes brimming with unrelenting glee. "Come, maiden! Meet your Royal Highness! This way, now!" And then he was off, scurrying back into the fort with a speed hardly possible of a man his age.

"Goddesses help us all," Tauroneo muttered, turning to follow after Izuka, waving a hand beckoning the others to do the same. "That man could try the patience of a stone, he could. Were he not so damned brilliant – if a little harsh – I would not be able to stand him."

"Why has he been accepted as an advisor?" Sothe asked, only barely capable of keeping his anger in check. "Surely you would have sufficed, with all your skill as a commander, Tauroneo? Was employing that madman necessary?"

"I know not of necessity, Sothe, but our prince favors him for his tallents. I doubt he knows of Izuka's past with Ashnard, however."

"I'll give my thanks for that," Sothe said through gritted teeth. "As much as I hate the man, nobody needs to be aware of such horrors."

"Indeed, but I can't help fearing the possibility of him trying such things again," Tauroneo sighed.

"What was it Izuka did?" Micaiah asked, finally overcoming her nerves and allowing curiosity to come forth.

"Izuka worked for King Ashnard directly," Sothe explained, and Micaiah couldn't help but notice the way his eyes narrowed and his lips twitched when he spoke of Izuka. "He created a drug that, when used, brought out the best of a Laguz's strength. But it also drove them insane. They were bound to their transformed states, insane and cursed with an eternal bloodlust. The perfect killing machines, but a sin to all Laguz. It was disgusting, especially given how many we had to fight late in the war."

"During your absence, I heard rumors of such horrors. How the Sub-Humans could finally be tamed, how the feral beasts of the south were no longer anything to be feared. The populace rejoiced with this knowledge." Micaiah sighed deeply, shaking her head. "I thought it was all a disgusting, unbelievable rumor. But to hear truth in those words..."

"It was difficult, but with help from our finest healers and Prince Reyson, we were able to save some of them. One of which was Goldoa's Prince Rajaion, whom had up until then been Ashnard's mount. All the same, it is a horrific moment in Laguz history, where countless of their own were lost to experiments and corruption – even now, Gallia is not yet at full strength. Such is the damage these experiments did."

Sothe's cold words cast an uneasy silence on the small group, all shaking with brimming rage. The winding hallways of the small fort seemed to blend together as they all lost themselves to their own respective thoughts on the matter. Sothe himself remained carefully indifferent, masking his emotions once again so as to not draw attention to himself later. Deep down the memory of those sights haunted him still, though he loathed to show it. Proud as he was of Daein and it's people for surviving the hardships placed upon it in the last three years, it was events like those that made the reality of what Daein had been unmistakable.

Before long, a large chamber revealed itself at the end of an exceptionally long hallway. Torches lit either side of the hallway, casting eerie shadows behind them as they went. Beyond the eerily lit hallway was a chamber far more eerie. The overall look reminded Sothe of a suitable home for a mage of the darkest sort; torches were in groups of three in either corner, and a statue depicting a God that Sothe couldn't recognize was embedded into the far wall. In the center stood a man fitting of the room's appeal, were it not for the timid expression his face wore and the obvious kindness radiating from him. In contrast to that was Izuka standing next to him, reflecting the opposite of everything kind and benevolent of the young prince. Behind them was a third person, entirely obscured by either the shadows or the dress worn, hiding their identity entirely. A passing glance from Sothe revealed her to be a woman, if only by the way the dress pushed out slightly in the chest.

Izuka eagerly rushed forward as soon as he noticed them, grabbing Micaiah by the arm and pulling her away from the group, ignoring or simply unaware of her soft grunt of surprise. "Now then," he said suddenly, as though he hadn't just rudely pulled Micaiah into the presence of himself and the prince next to him, "may I introduce to you, your esteemed Prince Pelleas, true blood son of our late King Ashnard!" Then with a hand he waved over the women. Sothe felt a familiarity he couldn't quite place as he caught sight of the green locks of hair running down her chest, though he didn't have time to try to figure it out. "And this is the royal consort of His Majesty and mother of our Prince Pelleas, the Lady Almedha."

"It is an honor, Prince Pelleas, Lady Almedha," Micaiah said politely, glancing to each in turn.

"Look at you!" Izuka gasped, his face contorted in disgust. "You are in the presence of your future King and the consort of our late King, and yet you do not bow? What kind of insolence is this? Kneel for your royalty at once, both of you!"

"Please, Izuka, that is quite enough," Pelleas chided gently. With both hands he reached out and pulled Micaiah and Sothe from mid-bow, smiling tentatively all the while. "Do not stand on ceremony with me, maiden, or maiden's sword. Up until recently I knew not I was a prince. Truth is, I am not used to nor am I deserving of such reverence."

Nonplussed, Micaiah asked, "What do you mean?"

"Until just half a year ago, I had been raised as a commoner. As such, none of this seems real to me, you know? Kings, crowns, overbearing responsibilities... I simply wasn't raised with an affinity for such things."

Modest though it may have been, Sothe couldn't help but notice the look of outrage that crossed Almedha's face, however briefly it had remained. "Don't speak of such things, my son. You are my Prince Pelleas, and you will be King – as is your birthright. Yes, mother shall protect you..." She stepped forward, pulling Pelleas into a warm embrace, "Mother shall ensure you do a fine job. None shall have your birthright, dear."

"If we're done with the pleasantries, may we get down to business, Your Highness?" Izuka coughed irritably, narrowing his eyes at Pelleas who reluctantly pulled away from his mother, nodding. "Wonderful! Now then, Micaiah of the Dawn Brigade, before your prince, I name you Vice-General of the Daein Liberation Army! You will accept, will you not?"

"Excuse me," Sothe growled, crossing so that he stood between Izuka and Micaiah, "but what exactly do you mean by that?"

"Moreover, I have no experience!" Micaiah cried. "I am honored to have such a offer placed before me, but I must decline it. Daein will need someone who can lead people, someone who has experience in matters of war and tactics. I have none of these things."

"Why does that matter?" Izuka asked, his voice icy and low with poorly hidden contempt. "You are a member of the legendary Dawn Brigade, who's every exploit precedes them, are you not? That being said, to take this offer should be an opportunity sent from the Goddesses themselves! To leave the shadows, face your foes boldly and without fear, is that not what you would wish of yourselves?"

Sothe scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, "Are we to be oblivious to such a thinly veiled plot? You wish to use Micaiah's fame to make her your mantelpiece! All hope would be drawn to us, yes, but at what cost?!"

"Must you be so selfish?" Izuka asked coldly.

"I must," Sothe declared defiantly. "Micaiah is not some tool for you to use for your gain! And if you would see her used in such a manner, than I will have nothing to do with this army."

"Sothe is right. I will not be made a tool of," Micaiah added. With a brief nod to one another they turned around, walking toward the long hallway that would lead them through adjoined hallway after adjoined hallway, back out into the unyielding climates of the desert where they would inevitably have to tell their friends that they came all this way for nothing, that their only hope of putting up a solid fight was worthless and that they – a group of well trained but otherwise outmatched fighters – would be fighting Begnion's occupation in a do-or-die suicidal confrontation. Micaiah winced at the mere thought of how well that would go over with their allies.

"Micaiah, please, hear me out!" Pelleas cried. Sothe gave Micaiah a carefully calculating look as she slowly came to a stop, cursing under his breath as she turned to face Pelleas. "You aren't alone in this Micaiah. I know nothing either! Yet if I do nothing, Daein will suffer all the more! I cannot be frightened, and I cannot hide. Despite my worry, I have to be brave. So, if only for Daein's future, may I ask the same of you?"

Micaiah's hardened stare didn't waver once during his emotional speech. Carefully choosing her words, she asked, "Will you be able to promise me that, no matter what, Daein will be restored?"

"To the best of my abilities, I shall."

"In that case, I will lend you my strength, Prince Pelleas. I pray my trust is not misplaced."

Gritting his teeth was the only thing Sothe could do to avoid crying out his vehement objections to the idea. Instead he looked toward Pelleas and, keeping his voice as level as possible, asked, "May I have a moment with her?"

"I am in no position to keep you from speaking, friend," Pelleas responded pleasantly, which served only to enrage Sothe all the more. But he managed to keep his emotions in check while he pulled Micaiah into the hallway where, out of the view of everyone else, he pressed her to the wall, pinning her in place with his arms.

"Sothe?" Micaiah asked, seemingly unbothered by the situation.

"What are you thinking?" he demanded in a hushed whisper.

"We need to do this, Sothe. I thought that was why we were coming all the way out here," Micaiah responded evenly.

"But you..." Sothe cried out in quiet rage and slammed his fist against the wall, his entire body quivering with anger. "I can't believe you would be so careless!"

"I fail to see why you are so angry, Sothe!" Micaiah shot back hotly.

"You know exactly why I am angry! We cannot live in the public eye and yet you, for whatever Goddess forsaken reason, see fit to throw yourself right into the open!" Sothe's breathing slowed and his face faded into indifference. He pressed his forehead to Micaiah's, saying quietly, "It isn't like you, Micaiah. I'm just looking out for you."

"These past three years, Sothe," Micaiah said, just as quietly, "they changed me as well. If Daein can be protected, I will protect it. Is that unreasonable?"

"You would do so even if it means risking everything?"

"I would." Micaiah's face showed a determination that took Sothe by surprise, and he slowly backed off. "That isn't all there is, Sothe. We aren't alone in this, Sothe. Prince Pelleas wants the same thing we do, I can feel it. With his help, I know we can do it."

"Prince Pelleas is kind, Micaiah, but he is not strong. We cannot expect so much from him." Sothe sighed, running a hand through his hair swiftly. "And what of that voice you spoke of? Does it not warn you of impending danger?"

"It cries out to me of the danger before us, Sothe, but it is also brimming with hope. Our future is not completely clear, Sothe, but we can do this. Perhaps it is better that we not know what is to come, though."

Sothe nodded, "I won't try to believe in this decision. But I won't fight it anymore either. I trust your decision in this matter, however. More importantly, I believe in you." Before Micaiah could react, Sothe had her enveloped in a comforting hug. "But remember, Micaiah. I will protect you, okay?"

"I know that, Sothe!" Micaiah cried exasperatedly.

"So long as you remember, Micaiah." And with that Sothe was gone, looking far too solemn for Micaiah's liking.

"... Thank you, Sothe."

* * *

Acclimating one's self to the natural selfishness of advisors, politicians and nobles was something Elincia had never quite gotten used to. Try as she might, she just couldn't understand them. Why was their greed more important than the country? Why did their decisions benefit themselves and not the country? Why did the civilians, the people who actually suffered when the country was in disarray, not get what they deserved? Elincia wanted nothing more than to devote all her efforts to appeasing the people, to fostering a country so strong internally and externally that it would be a model for centuries to come. But those around her – the damned advisors, politicians and nobility – made this a hopeless endeavor.

Granted, it didn't help that Elincia's aides were widespread and engaging in a variety of tasks. And it went without saying that internal stability was out of the question when the commander of your Royal Knights is not only accusing one of the regional Dukes of treason, but also rather openly trying to dig up information supporting such a claim. Indeed, Queen Elincia was not one to be deterred from a difficult task – she'd not be queen at the moment if she did. But this particular task, one that was quite possibly the epitome of her ideals, was akin to the task of swallowing Begnion whole with just those same Royal Knights.

"Your Majesty, may I suggest the possibility of you getting married?" A rather pompous noble, frail and pale skinned with large pockets in which the amount of his skin exceeded the amount of room for said skin. His skin looked like he was well over one hundred – daunting indeed, in and of itself – despite the fact that he was little over eighty.

"Why," Elincia started evenly, her voice devoid of anything that could possibly be used to trace how she truly felt about the matter, "would that be a good idea? Enlighten us, Sir Ophalt."

Ophalt nodded immediately, undeterred by the edge in Elincia's voice, "At this time, Your Majesty, our country needs something to cling to. There is the potential threat of civil war – which is no secret amongst the populace, I assure you – and there is the deal with the Greil Mercenaries, our heroes, and their treason. The country desperately needs that small bit of happiness; a ray of light in these dark days, you could say."

Elincia's expression remained impassive, even as she said venomously, "And I take it that, in making this suggestion, you already have a suitor in mind you would like to propose."

"Your Majesty is no slouch with her wit," Ophalt remarked, drumming his unmanicured nails against the polished wood of the round table. "I have a grandson not five years your senior. I propose him not out of greed, but rather for his merits. He is a prodigy of anything pertaining to academics, and has already displayed a great potency for leadership. He is as fine a suitor as any, and considering him is in all of our better interest."

"I see," Elincia acknowledged wryly. "However, if I were to consent to this proposal – and I have said no such thing – the suitor will be of my own choosing. I will not succumb to the will of an arranged marriage, nor will I allow such a thing to become custom in this country. I will wed of my own will. Does anyone have objections to that?"

"Within reason, Your Majesty ---"

"--- Not within reason!" Elincia shot back hotly. "If it were my decision to do so, I would wed a commoner. Crimea will not become a country centered around it's nobility; it's people are it's heart, and they shall thus receive the attention they are due! Have you any objections?!"

"... Yes, Your Majesty," Ophalt muttered shakily. As soon as the bout of nervousness had passed he composed himself once again, reverting to the pompous attitude he had displayed all along, "But will you give my suitor the time of day, at least? You owe your country that much."

Elincia snorted, "You speak as though I have agreed to this proposal."

"Will you not?"

"I have not yet decided," Elincia admitted, shaking her head slowly. "I will acknowledge the merit of your suggestion, Sir Ophalt, but the fact remains that there are other pressing matters, and tying myself down with preparations for a wedding is not the best thing to do at the moment."

"If it would ease Her Majesty," Ophalt now spoke with a highly subdued tone, full of respect that Elincia knew was used simply to the end of her persuasion, "I am sure we could take care of the details while you busied yourself with Crimea and finding a suitor. Surely you could do both?"

Elincia nodded slowly, weighing the options in her mind. On one hand she could accept this proposal, go into talks of marriage as she was, despite not really being ready for such things. On the other she could turn them down, which would likely serve only to alienate herself further from the members of her court. Neither particularly appealed to her, although the latter was clearly the more threatening of the two prospects. Finally she said, her voice dripping with contempt, "I will consider marriage, if it would please you so. However, for the time being I shall do so of my own volition. If I have not found a suitor in five months' time, you may begin to present suitors to me. Is that acceptable?"

Ophalt nodded almost too eagerly, unable to keep his glee in check any longer. "That would be more acceptable indeed, Your Majesty. Surely nobody is of a different opinion?"

And of course, nobody was. Pompous nobles indeed – selfish, every last one of them.

The tall oak doors behind Elincia opened, and dramatic clapping filled the tense air. Elincia watched her peripherals warily as Ludveck came into view, grinning like an idiot. "You have a strong head on your shoulders, Your Majesty. If only you dedicated that strong head of your's to things that mattered, instead of conversing about frilly white dresses and knights in shining armor."

"I am to believe," Elincia started, not turning her head as she spoke, gracing the round table in front of her with her utmost attention, "that you have a topic of such import to discuss, then?"

"I do indeed. One of great import, if I may be so bold," Ludveck boasted. His grin faded as soon as he had come fully into Elincia's view. He sat along the edge of the table, staring down at Elincia with cold contempt, "Because if you had actually spared a thought for these important matters and had been doing your job as our sovereign, I would not have lost almost half of Felirae's forces in Daein two days ago."

"And why were your forces in Daein to begin with?" Elincia asked, all the while berating herself for her lack of care for the death of all those men.

Ludveck shrugged nonchalantly, "Pursuing rumors you dismissed without any regard for their truth. And now I have lost another large force to the _great_ mercenary Ike. The same Ike that we were led to believe was slain by your Royal Knights."

A disturbed silence fell over the court. Low murmurs broke out amongst the various nobles, advisors and politicians, all weighing the value of Ludveck's words. Ludveck deprived them of the chance, continuing, "As it stands, our nation's heroes are guilty of treason on two separate accounts. I believe I have the right, now, to request the deployment of an official army to drag the Greil Mercenaries back to Crimea, so that they may face their crimes. Surely that is not unreasonable."

"Your Majesty, if I may," a man seated next to Ophalt said, dressed regally in white robes and a cap, golden embroidery stitched into the fabric. He was one of Elincia's personal advisors, and he was clearly not afraid to flaunt his position. "Duke Ludveck is right. While we cannot be certain that Sir Ike is actually guilty of any of the crimes the Duke has placed on him, we at least need to bring him in to hear his account."

"Your Majesty," Lucia spoke up for the first time, leaving her place leaning against the wall to come around to Elincia's side. "I believe we should gather more evidence before we risk provoking not only Begnion, but also the Daein resistance forces situated throughout the country."

"This is coming from the woman," sneered Ludveck, all pretense of kindness gone as he regarded Lucia, "who's brother has been snooping around my manor for days now." Lucia let out a strangled cry and shifted her attention to Ludveck, who only grinned all the wider at Lucia's shock. "Why, may I ask, is that?"

"Nothing sinister," Lucia quickly stated, conjuring a believable excuse in her mind in a matter of seconds. "But since you were the one victimized by Sir Ike, is it not reasonable to assume there may be incentive found in your manor?"

"Like what?"

"It goes without saying that your soldiers went to the Greil Mercenaries' hideout of their own accord; they were not provoked by Sir Ike in that regard. Would you care to tell us the reason for that?"

It was a longstanding battle of wits that the two frequently engaged in. On just about every encounter, Lucia's wit fought with Ludveck's over one matter or another. And this was no different. This time, Ludveck decided, he wouldn't lose. He wouldn't succumb to defeat of their ethereal plane, as he had on several occasions before. No, he would back Lucia into a corner and drive his point home. "I hoped to convince the Greil Mercenaries to return to court, especially with the growing extremities in Daein. We could use his strength now more than ever. Or are you not in agreement, Lady Lucia?"

Lucia scowled, mentally congratulating Ludveck – albeit bitterly – for worming his way out of her trap. "I will not disagree. However, if the threat in Daein rises, shouldn't it be us, and not the Greil Mercenaries, who settle it?"

"If the Greil Mercenaries returned to court, their achievements would be our own, would they not?" Ludveck countered.

"Sir Ike is a man with a price tag. You cannot say things such as that lightly. And moreover, we would be looked down upon if we were to be reliant on his strength. We need to develop our own strength, internally and externally." Much to Lucia's satisfaction, she could feel the blood boiling beneath Ludveck's skin as she drove him back further. Everyone else watched in dazed silence, more than eager to allow the matter to remain between Crimea's greatest minds, Count Bastian aside.

Ludveck nodded sagely, as if considering Lucia's words for a brief moment – everyone knew this was a condescending act, and act which could only be seen as insulting between the two of them. Ludveck watched Lucia for any signs of her wanting to speak before he said, an air of triumph lacing his words, "And will we be fostering internal strength by letting this blow over? The fact remains that the Greil Mercenaries have attacked Crimea's forces on numerous occasions, some with and some without provocation." Lucia's eyes widened as she realized the trap that had just been sprung, but by the time she had realized it, it was far too late. In a battle only they truly understood, Ludveck delivered the finishing blow by saying, "We need to at least threaten them, else we shall never have the respect of the people."

The silence that followed was so tense that one could almost hear the sweat dripping from another's nape, splashing almost inaudibly to the ground or onto their chair. Looks were exchanged nervously, and everyone was anxious to hear their queen's verdict on the matter. Only Ludveck remained composed, convinced as he was that his appeal would be heeded. Finally, Elincia dashed the hopes of not only Lucia, but several others as well, when she said, "Mobilize our forces." Those simple words sent a cold chill through many. Elincia's friendship with Sir Ike was no secret amongst the court, and subsequently it was quite a surprise to hear her warranting their capture, or worse, so evenly.

The days to come would be long indeed. And they would try Crimea to it's fullest.

* * *

And there is the end of a chapter that was long overdue. I particularly disliked the fighting in this chapter, to be honest, but I let it slide. More importantly, though, is that I am truly confident that my writing was otherwise satisfactory. Beg to disagree? Want to leave me a word of two of agreement? I'd love either, really.


	7. Raising the Standard

Moving on, it is now time to novelize Raise the Standard. Unlike the game I will not be breaking this chapter into two parts, so the odds of this chapter being very long are definitely up there. Hopefully it won't be agonizingly long, but we'll see.

And I'm pleasantly surprised that my ability to write battles in the last chapter went over better than they did to myself during revision. I suppose what got me was everything Dr. Mancusio pointed out: the not expanding upon anything but the simplecy of going from one foe to the next, and narrowing it to just that. In the little conflict there is in this chapter (I am trying to narrow it a little bit so that this novelization doesn't become a repetitive case of Preparation-Miscellaneous Events-Fighting-Repeat. The prospect of going into every chapter expecting a whole lot of blood and gore (as fitting as it is for Fire Emblem) just bothers me. Perhaps that's just me, though.

In regards to Ike, however, I understand the confusion of that. This is because of the difficulty of defining what it is I want to do with Ike. See, after much deliberation, I decided Ike fits the profile of your classic adventurous hero (a prime example would be Link from any Legend of Zelda game). As such, it becomes a statement that any conclusion with him would involve the necessity for more adventure (which inadvertently brought on an understanding of him leaving Tellius at the end of Radiant Dawn), and that brings on the necessity in defining an inability to adapt to a laid back surrounding. This is what I was trying to get at last chapter, where he was contested by the responsibilities of the Daeins' hatred, all the while understanding just where he stands.

And no, that didn't sound any better to me than it surely does to any of you; it made no sense to me either. But I'm confident I'll eventually be able to word it in such a manner that will allow it to make sense. Here's hoping.

This also ties into (in part) the vague nature of the Crimean raid on Amel. While I will not attribute all of it to the purposefully vague nature (as I have already said I was quite displeased with the fight scenes in the last chapter), I was trying to pass across the message that their job wasn't simply to get Ike. Rather, it was, but they carried the same at-all-costs attitude that Ludveck himself carries, hence the sheer chaos represented. But yes, I will concede to the point that taking that fight down to a more direct level rather than leaving the soldiers as little more than inanimate characters (which I have to do often, for obvious reasons) would have been a good idea. I'll keep an eye out for that.

Also, there will be talks of military strategy and battle tactics in this chapter. I'll note now that, no, they are not made up on my part. Being the history buff that I am, I take pride in the fact that I have educated myself at least somewhat in such things. They won't be constant elements as I am sure my practical knowledge isn't as useful as theoretical knowledge that would be more realistic, but they will show up from time to time. Primarily because chalking the Dawn Brigade's success down to simply Micaiah's predictions doesn't sit well with me. That worked fine in past chapters because they were really just skirmishes, but in an actual war you would never win by simply knowing the outcome and waiting for it to come along.

But that's enough of that. So anyway, as I said, long chapter abound, which is frightening even to me when you consider that my last chapter came in at 24 pages in length, according to Open Office. Also, the constant bouncing around may get annoying, but now that the weighty tension of impending doom (for the Dawn Brigade, that is) has been lifted somewhat, there will be more overall character development rather than focusing just on the immediate protagonists as I have been for the most part.

Further, I have recently come to notice (and yes, this is being added mid-chapter), with some regret, that my characterization of Ike and Shinon's relationship is a little out of character (it took a bit of revision through the land of Path of Radiance to realize this). Now, normally this would bother me to no end, but rather than try to fix it I will redeem the situation before anyone can call me on it. And really, I have every right to make it a little out of character, since from what I recall there was hardly anything resembling grudging tension between Shinon and Ike in Radiant Dawn. And I absolutely loved the antagonistic undertone of their relationship in Path of Radiance, hence why it is getting some merit here. So that's that, if anyone cares.

* * *

_Knowing the peril that lies upon her new path, Micaiah takes upon the role of Vice-General of Prince Pelleas' Liberation Army. _

_With the power placed before her, Daein's new Vice-General finally has the strength to reclaim Daein. Aided not by her foresight, the Silver Haired Maiden dives into her future. Driven only by the distant hope of a brighter tomorrow and her own resolve. Despite lacking her foresight, the Dawn Brigade is in higher spirits than ever. It is their hope that their newfound strength will allow them to make a firm stand against their oppressors. The uncertainty of their future gives them a heightened sense of reality, driven as they had been only by the certainty their maiden provided._

_It is Prince Pelleas himself that is driven the farthest by hope. Daein's new prince is a stark contrast to their Mad King, lacking the firm hand and cruelty of his father. He instead possesses a sincerity and a kind heart that makes him a strong counterpoint to his father. Ill-suited though he is for both the times to come and the crown that awaits him, his presence grants the weary Dawn Brigade with a sense of ease that puts their minds at rest. His name becomes a bright star that contrasts his otherwise ill-suited abilities, leaving him a rallying cry to strengthen the resolve of Daein's true hope: the Silver Haired Maiden._

_These cries are heard not in neighboring Crimea, where a new war is well afoot. Crimea's armies gather in hordes before Melior where, under the command of Duke Felirae himself, they prepare to march on Daein. Their target is the Greil Mercenaries, the scapegoat in Duke Felirae's duplicity and evil machinations. It is his desire that they be exterminated, cast aside as the scapegoats they've been made to be to further his ends. Realizing this, the Greil Mercenaries move toward their fate, with the hope that they may redeem themselves and return to their home..._

* * *

The first thing Micaiah heard that morning was a scream.

She was out of her cot and dressing in a flash, throwing her freshly washed robe over the white linens she had worn to sleep the night before, dashing through the small fold of her tent and glancing around in frantic search of the source of that scream. Their most recent recruits hadn't yet been drilled by Nolan, so perhaps it was possible that a brief case of lust had led to a compromising situation. She quickly threw that thought away, realizing with a jolt that the scream she had heard was masculine in nature. And deeper than what any normal girl would be capable of. It was definitely a man, if only for the fact that very few of their soldiers were women. And certainly they were all feminine, if disciplined.

Thus, her first guess was that it had been Edward. Not entirely impossible, she reasoned. But Edward was Nolan's Vice-Lieutenant – Micaiah had received permission from Pelleas to promote Nolan to Lieutenant after he single-handedly brought all of their most recent recruits to safety during their most recent labor camp raid – and would already be awake, drilling soldiers. At a loss, Micaiah began checking the tents that hadn't been folded up one by one, looking for any irregularities – such as, for example, a man cowering in a corner, for whatever reason. When she came to Sothe's tent, she found herself chuckling before she could help herself.

Sothe was still in his cot, staring in horror at his chest where, curled up atop him and sleeping soundly, was Ilyana. In one hand she clutched tightly to the blanket drawn over Sothe's body, and in the other she held a half-eaten loaf of bread. And nearby, suspiciously enough, was Sothe's pack. Open. The dots could be connected rather simply after that, but it didn't alleviate the amusement of seeing Sothe, inexperienced as he was with any female but Micaiah in situations that weren't strictly platonic, staring in wide-eyed horror at the soundly sleeping glutton atop him. Even in her sleep, she mumbled softly to herself and brought her hand to her lips, biting into the loaf.

Micaiah's soft chuckles gave way unrelenting laughter almost immediately.

"Not funny, Micaiah!" Sothe reprimanded desperately.

"Uhn?" Ilyana's eyes fluttered open slowly, her arms stretching outward, coming within inches of Sothe's face. A delicate sigh escaped through her slightly parted lips, and then she started to become aware of her surroundings. She munched again into the loaf of bread in her hand, seemingly unsurprised that she had awoken with it in her hand. Her eyes left the bread and settled upon Sothe's face, and a tentative smile crossed her face at once, "Good morning, Sothe. Why are you in my tent?"

Sothe smiled in return, clearly forced, if the vein in his forehead threatening to burst forth was any indication. "Actually, Ilyana, this is my tent. And that," he pointed where her chin was now resting, "is my chest. Not your pillow."

Ilyana nodded, "Ah. And this bread?"

"Mine as well," Sothe's face scrunched up, and Micaiah could see he was barely keeping himself contained.

Ilyana, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice. "You didn't give it to me, did you?"

"I was asleep."

Again, Ilyana nodded. "Thank you."

Sothe nodded in response and allowed a silence to follow, broken only by the occasional chuckle rudely emitted from Micaiah, still standing just beyond the slightly open flap."I take it," Sothe finally said, frowning, "that you don't know why you're here?"

Ilyana smiled weakly, "I was hungry."

Sothe raised an eyebrow, "I can see that. My food, though?"

"I didn't have any. And nobody else would let me eat their's."

"I fail to recall," and here Sothe raised a finger into the air, swivelling it matter-of-factly, "having given you permission."

"Unless you did so in your sleep," Micaiah supplied in a carefully calculated tone of voice that signaled her reversion into complete composure, before turning and leaving.

"So?" Sothe's voice drew Ilyana's eyes back to his face, and a smile infectiously crossed his face before he could stop it. "Mind getting off of me? You've freeloaded enough, I think."

Ilyana glanced down at her hand where there only remained the remnant crumbs of the bread loaf before looking up at Sothe, saying sheepishly, "I'm hungry."

Twenty minutes and three loafs of bread later – only one of which Sothe had the honor of consuming – Sothe was leaving his tent with Ilyana in tow, ignoring the glances, either questioning or knowingly jealous, from anyone who saw them leave. It was still early morning and the sun had barely left the horizon, but the entire camp was active. Not a single person was still resting, and only Sothe's tent and a large tent across the camp's clearing were left standing. Metal clanging filled the air as Nolan's early morning spar sessions were still in full swing, and from the corner of his eye Sothe could see Edward and Meg locked in a fierce deadlock. The two broke apart and circled eachother for a moment before closing in again, matching eachother swing for swing. Meg's movements in particular surprised Sothe, unhindered by the bulky armor on her arms.

Sothe and Ilyana parted ways shortly after, leaving Sothe alone in his journey toward the large tent. Micaiah was waiting outside for him, leaning against it with her arms crossed over her chest, hands grasping her arms and rubbing them up and down for warmth. The early morning air began to buffet Sothe only then, leaving him painfully aware of the fact that his choice of clothing left him wanting for warmth.

"Is Izuka waiting for us?" Sothe asked, all business.

"Put up with him, Sothe. Keep your personal feelings out of this," Micaiah sighed, pivoting in place and entering the tent as Sothe held it open for her. A square table was in the center of the otherwise undecorated tent, and at the head stood Pelleas and Izuka. On one side of the table stood Tauroneo, observing a map splayed out across it, while Zihark and Jill stood on the other side, waiting. Almedha stood slightly off to the side, watching Pelleas with one eye and the tent's opening with the other. Her expression was one of instant distrust, though that seemed to come only from her nearly obsessive desire to protect her son. Micaiah was touched by her motherly care, despite the icy eye staring at her as she approached the table.

"Ah, you're finally here," Izuka said bitterly, clearly put out by having had to wait so long. "Now that everyone is here, can we begin?"

"Go ahead, Izuka," Pelleas responded evenly, his voice delicate and oddly surprising to Micaiah, no matter how many times she had heard it.

"Of course." Izuka leaned over the table and, with a victorious smirk plastered firmly on his face, began to explain, "Thanks to some of my... operatives, word has spread like wildfire of our efforts. Our exploits in eastern Daein has reached all corners of the country! Even now, rebel groups are renewing their efforts! All we have to do is continue to amass our strength, snag the hearts of the people, and fight! Begnion shall fall! Conquered in the blaze sparked by my genius!"

"Even if we drew strength from every labor camp in Daein – a mighty task alone, no less – our forces would be pitiful in comparison to the kind of strength Begnion has here in Daein alone." Sothe scowled at Izuka with enough fury to burn away the ice in Izuka's glare. "How, pray tell, would we gather enough strength to put up a stand?"

"Leave that to me," Izuka said simply, leaving Sothe more than a little suspicious as to his devices.

"We need to prioritize targeting labor camps for now," Micaiah said suddenly, looking at the map. The map showed Daein in great detail, with red markings drawn over certain areas, as well as a blue arrow showing where they were camped, many miles northeast of Talrega. "We need to bolster our strength however possible. Even if it isn't as much as could be hoped, the added strength is necessary."

"Exactly," Izuka grunted. "These marks are the most ideal points for attack, planned out painstakingly after much deliberation."

"Not all of them are labor camps," Micaiah noted.

"I included areas where Begnion's strength is at it's weakest. If we attack any of these places, we are guaranteed victory!" Izuka then pointed toward a rather large mark over a drawing of a hill, atop which rested a castle. "We must target Talrega next. The defenses there are weak, and it's fall will trigger the collapse of the entire eastern front. Most of all, resentment of the occupation runs high there."

Micaiah shook her head quickly, "Talrega is no good."

Pelleas raised an eyebrow and urged her to continue with a glance, though any hope of sensible explanation was cut off by Izuka pointing a finger at Micaiah and crying out angrily, "How dare my plans – my ingenious, painstakingly made plans – be contested by this child! Explain yourself!"

"The time of year is all wrong," Micaiah explained. She pointed to the hill of Talrega on the map as she continued, "The rain. If we attacked now the mud would slow us, and inevitably hinder us. That, coupled with the disadvantage of lower ground, would be our undoing."

"It's true." All eyes fell on Jill as she sent a nod and a smile toward Micaiah, both of which were returned sheepishly. "I'm from Talrega. The rainfall during the warmer seasons has been known to create floods and landslides. If we marched along the mountain road toward the labor camp there, we would be marching into watery graves. And going by air – and that applies only to me – is impossible. Talrega was home to many of Daein's air forces, and the fortress there was outfitted with many anti-air weapons in preparation for the Liberation Army three years ago."

Izuka glared balefully at Jill, his teeth chattering against one another as he fought to keep his very volatile emotions under control. "Impossible! My plan had been thought through thoroughly! Surely I'd have not overlooked something so trivial... hmph."

Sothe shot a warning glance toward Izuka before he turned to Micaiah and asked, "Where do you think we should attack?"

Micaiah's eyes fleeted across the map for several seconds before she pointed toward the north and said, "Marado. The prison camp in Marado should be our target."

"Marado?" Sothe repeated. "We would have to pass through Terin, would we not?"

"We would," Tauroneo inserted suddenly. "And like Talrega, Terin – and Marado as well – are mountainous. But the climate further north is arid, and the weather is more predictable. The only elements working against us would be the strong hold they have in the north. A far less daunting foe than weather can be, I assure you."

"Would we be able to succeed?" Pelleas asked carefully.

"It would not be easy," Tauroneo replied, "but it would not be impossible. So long as we took care to keep the enemy from securing the high ground and make use of our strengths and weaknesses properly, we have a shot."

"We would have to act fast though," Micaiah went on. She pointed toward Marado and then, leaving her finger on the map, began dragging it toward Terin. "Marado and Terin are close by, and if we don't hit Begnion hard immediately we could find ourselves fighting some of Daein's finest as well as Begnion. That would be more disastrous than attacking Talrega."

"Simply amazing," Pelleas breathed, relief evident in both his voice and stance. "We shall cross through Terin and attack Marado then. I will leave the battle plan to Tauroneo and Micaiah, and Izuka and I will work on our next course of action. Dismissed."

* * *

The small northern state of Marado was one of the poorest locales in Daein, even during Daein's richest days as a continental power as it had been but three years ago. The miles upon miles of the state were nearly uninhabitable due to the mountainous nature of the region, and the sole village was hardly inhabited. It was a large village built upon some of the only flatland the region yielded, and it held nearly the entirety of the region's meager population. Even so, the people dwelling in Marado were of the most honorable sort. It had been partly of their volition that Marado had come to be as it was – that is, a region despairing in pitiful independence in the center of Begnion's occupation.

It had been in a twist of fate similar to that of the small settlements like Amel in southern Daein that Marado had been allowed to remain following Begnion's occupation. Between the honor of their acting Steward and of the people's will, it had been decided that Marado would not answer Daein's call to battle during the Mad King's War. When Begnion swept in during the aftermath of the Liberation Army's occupation of both Daein and Crimea and declared ownership of the now-annexed country, Marado had been granted many thanks for their efforts in refusing the battle call. Unfortunately, those thanks had not spared them from the inevitable oppression that was to follow.

And despite it all, Marado's populace had found it in themselves to be thankful of the Liberation Army and their General, Sir Ike. Like their Steward, Marado's people were of the most honorable sort Daein had to offer. They had known, surely, that their future in denying their King would be a harsh one. Yes, they had known. Yet they cared not. For they knew as well as any other what their Mad King Ashnard had done in his reign, knew what had been suspected of him, and knew the highest points of his cruelty. They knew which side was in the right, despite the fact that it was their land being trampled upon, and their homes that would surely be in peril eventually.

They knew, but they also knew that it had been the many homes of Crimea that had been burned when the Mad King had trampled through their land in a bloody swath. They knew their suffering was justified retribution.

Truly, their sense of honor was something that ought to have been admired by friends and foes alike. But instead they were labeled cowards to their nation, oppressed by the ones whom with they had wordlessly sided, and now – this part Fiona would think privately, for she would surely be flogged if it were spoken – they were being forced onto the wrong side of a second war where justice was an important factor, if not the most prominent one. Really, Marado's Stewardess would have liked nothing more than to cast her lot with the liberators, to fight on the side with which justice rested and free her country from the injustices of Begnion's iron rule.

But even she, hardly more than a child forced into the shoes of adulthood, knew she could not blame Crimea for her plight. Her fist clenched at her side as she thought of the one with which blame truly rested – none other than her own King, three years deceased. Even now his memory corrupted her, tainted her, almost made her ashamed to have served him. Indeed she was proud of her country. Pride, she dare say, she had more of than most Daeins. But the internal corruption it suffered during the reign of the esteemed Mad King Ashnard, the tyrannical superpower that had become of their great country, was a slight on the honor of anyone of Daein origin. A slight that, for Fiona, was hard to forget.

Her highly negative thoughts were interrupted by the sudden cry, presumably of surprise, from the city below. From her vantage point atop the cliffside overlooking Marado's lone settlement, with only the wind through her hair and the gentle whistle of what little grass grew around her. Below the village was abuzz with activity as it always was, children playing in the streets and families going about their chores. What few jobs the settlement yielded had been closed down, given the pressing need for care in preparation for the mobilization of the newly formed Daein Liberation Army. Begnion soldiers stood in small clusters, eyes peering from beneath their helmets at the citizens around, looking for the slightest sign of something that was not within their limit of acceptance. That meaning, anything that wasn't the monotony of daily life and talking in the comfort of one's own family.

Her eyes widened when they caught sight of the reason for that surprised cry, the one that had immediately granted her a sense of absolute horror. By the well responsible for offering water to the entire village, surrounded by a handful of horrified villagers, was a man. He was slowly backing away from a soldier who looked all too pleased to invoke such a reaction from the man. Fiona did not recognize the man, as she did a great number of Marado's citizens, but that did not help to aleviate the disgust welling within her as the man was forced against the well, his legs buckling and threatening to throw him into the depths of it's cavernous interior. The soldier was right in his face then, so close his breath could surely be felt upon the man's face. The disgust Fiona felt as she watched grew stronger.

"You do recall," the soldier drawled, and Fiona could feel the smirk he surely would have been wearing in his triumph, "that assembling is forbidden, do you not? That meetings such as this could be treasonous?"

The man let out a shaky breath, and Fiona felt a pang of pity for him, for showing his emotions so easily and granting Begnion the satisfaction they hardly deserved. "A-assembling? W-we... we were just talking around the well..." He tried to move forward then. An action which, Fiona knew without even watching him be shoved back again, was infinitely foolish. "We have done nothing wrong!"

The soldier's eyes, barely visible with the red helmet covering the rest of his face and even harder to see from such a distance, flashed at once with unrelenting anger. He had a lot of pent up stress – probably from a lack of resistance in Marado's populace, Fiona thought with satisfaction – and it seemed he was about to make an outlet of the offending man.

"You will be quiet!" he barked, giving the man a rough shove. The man teetered on the edge of despair as his legs threatened to give way to the pressure the shove had presented, but he held steady by grabbing one of the nearby support beams. Unbothered by the man's plight the soldier went on, stressing every word with a threatening edge that made even Fiona's hair stand on end, "There. Are. No. Excuses. Do you hear me?"

"W-what?" the man stuttered in pitiful response, shaking his head slightly.

"I said no excuses!" And then in a single motion he decapitated the man with a effortless swipe of his lance, rising it in an arc from his right hip to over his left shoulder with one hand. Blood gushed forth from the gaping hole in the now-corpse's neck, drenching the soldier's armor in the sticky fluid. Rather than being disgusted by it the soldier laughed harshly, sending shivers down the spines of the rest of the gathered villagers with but a glance. "Now scram. I believe I have made a fine example of your friend here."

"B-but..." a stout woman with a hunched back stuttered, backing away slowly. The woman's gray hair and frail limbs told of her elderly age, but the soldier seemed to not care as he thrust his lance through her chest, allowing her blood to join her friend's in staining his armor. The rest screamed aloud and ran, eager to escape a similar fate.

Fiona's stomach threatened to send it's contents back the way they had came as she watched the woman's body go limp on the soldier's lance, and she had to shake her head violently to keep herself from vomiting in sheer disgust. Every nerve in her body urged her to grab the lance strung to the side of her horse not far away, to rush down the cliffside and avenge her peoples' deaths. But she heeded them not, telling herself over and over again that she could not, that doing so would risk even more lives ultimately. She was right, of course. But knowing that didn't make ignoring her people's plight any easier.

"I didn't just see that... did I?" she mumbled, hopefully. She prayed, with every fibre of her being, that she could have been imagining it. That those with whom she had – albeit unwillingly – cast her lot had not just heartlessly murdered two of her people in cold blood. But she knew better. Her hope, desperate though it may have been, was simply a potential outlet to escape the burning anger within her. She needed to calm herself somehow. Perhaps a brief ride through the surrounding forest? Not the most calming of pastimes, but she needed to get away. She had to get away from that gruesome scene.

Her plans for a smooth escape were run into the ground when, while in the midst of packing a few necessities into her steed's saddle bag, shuffling footsteps and the sound of clanking armor alerted her to the approach of someone. Moments later, that 'someone' turned out to be two as they appeared in the corner of her eye. Particularly, it was General Jarod and his right hand, a man she recalled vaguely to be Alster... Alider... or something of the sort. She hadn't met the man beyond necessary greetings when she had met the General long ago, but her impression of him was hardly any better than her impression of Jarod. Perhaps remotely more compassionate, but that was it.

"The Lady Fiona," Jarod greeted, his harsh tone making the name come out as though it were an insult rather than a familiar greeting. And it probably was, for all the mocking undertone lacing it. "It is a pleasure."

Fiona stuffed her pride away as she bowed respectively, mumbling as politely as she could manage, "The pleasure is mine, General." Goddesses, she felt like a dog with it's tail tucked between it's legs. She might as well have been, she thought bitterly. "What can I do for you?"

"That witch and her self-proclaimed Liberation Army has escaped the clutches of the desert," Jarod said, by way of explanation.

"She is still far to the east, and her forces are small. Why does this concern Marado?" Fiona asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"Because someone – a source, shall I say – has alerted me that their plans will be to bolster their forces before targeting any of our actual military bases." He paused as he held out an arm behind him, and the bulky man who's name escaped Fiona handed him a sheet of paper. "According to our predictions, she will probably be targeting the smallest of our labor camps. Already three labor camps near the desert's edge have been raided, and her forces number grow stronger by the day. It is likely that, since there is a large camp just north of here, she will pass through Marado and target it."

Fiona frowned and she crossed her arms over her chest, tilting her head to the side, "How can you be so certain? There are labor camps all across the southern border of the country as well. And to have survived so long, the maiden must have some wit to her. That being said, she would be at least somewhat aware that Marado is yet beyond the capabilities of her army to overcome."

Jarod sneered and raised a hand to strike Fiona, only to be halted by a single glance from stout-what's-his-name. "Lady Fiona," the man said, and in a miraculous revelation she finally remembered him to be Alder, "the Silver Haired Maiden has overcome far greater trials with meager forces. As such, Marado shall be marching to aid Lieutenant Laverton in Terin. If they intend to come for any of the northern lands they shall start there."

"Also," Jarod stressed, shooing Alder back several steps with a wave of his hand, "Lieutenant Laverton has sent much of his forces to encamp at the Terin By-Pass, leaving his own defenses meager. You will be filling that hole, understood?"

That troublesome pride of her's urged her to impale Jarod upon that lance waiting not ten feet away, but she fought it off. Jarod could be replaced, she noted sourly, but the consequences of her actions would leave Marado not only without their Stewardess but also ultimately doomed for her mistake. Instead she allowed a forced smile to curve her lips upward, and with a salute that was unable to hide all of it's mocking qualities she said, "Understood, General. I shall prepare at once."

"I am glad to hear it," Jarod replied insincerely. "I trust we won't have a repeat of Marado's absence this time around, will we?"

Fiona shook her head, "I will not bother lying, as I am sure you are aware regardless. My people are proud Daeins through and through, and some of them dare to hope for this Liberation Army."

Jarod crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, "And what of you?"

"I will not foolishly chase after rumors that hold no ground. I have cast my lot with Begnion, and I shall fight tooth and nail for my allies." A lie, of course. But Jarod didn't need to know that, Fiona thought privately.

"I shall hold you to that," Jarod replied, albeit through gritted teeth. He could see some of the fabrication in her words, Fiona realized with satisfaction. "Now go."

Without a word Fiona climbed onto her horse, sending a curt nod to Alder – he had the heart to speak without making it seem as though he would lop her head off on a moment's notice – she tore off up the hill, eager to escape into the waiting forest that covered the cliffside higher up.

Jarod chuckled as he watched Fiona fade into the distance, drumming his fingers on the buckler on his left arm. "She can't be trusted farther than I can throw her, Alder."

"Her people are strong, though. They make a good sword, if nothing else." Alder laughed at the sour expression upon Jarod's face and asked seriously, "Shall I find someone to keep an eye on her?"

"We may find ourselves shorthanded if you do not."

* * *

"Crimea is coming to hunt us down."

It wasn't said with any niceties attached. It wasn't said politely. Shinon was straight and to the point, if brutally so. The weight of his words hit the tired mercenaries hard. Their silence was preferable to any actual words, though, as far as Ike was concerned. The quiet murmurs of birds in the high treetops and the distant sounds easily heard from Nevassa were the only reprieves in that silence, but they were hardly noticeable to Ike. Next to him, Soren was considering those words critically, although he didn't look considerably concerned.

In reality, this was a worst case scenario for the mercenaries. The escape from Amel had been difficult but, for the most part, without incident. With the exception of a painfully sore arm on Ike's part and a severely drained body on Soren's, neither had been harmed in any way. Their flight had taken them north through the Daein countryside, travelling by day and sleeping by night so as to evade the pending threat of Begnion scouting parties that had surely been drawn by the fighting in Amel. It wasn't until the fifth day of flight that they found anyone, and luckily Shinon and Titania had managed to regroup everyone. It was a miracle in and of itself that none of their own had been lost, but Ike was hardly ready to count his blessings.

Later, perhaps, he would look back upon this particular segment of his violent life and sigh nostalgically. Perhaps he would back upon this moment and think to himself, "Those were the days." He would sound like an old man in saying so, but he could hardly help it. The thrill of a situation that all but promised death? The knowledge that you and your meager mercenaries are isolated in a country of enemies and hunted by your homeland? Despite his better wishes, Ike was ecstatic. The death of the Black Knight had been the death of his one true rival, his goal in fighting. Ever since, there had been a part of him that longed for the sort of brutal fighting that his father's murderer brought out in him.

But this was not later. And though Ike was ecstatic, he was realistic. Blunt and sometimes rash, perhaps, but realistic. And he knew the responsibilities that rested upon his shoulders, the duty to lead his comrades to safety. If there would be time to be nostalgic of the sort of times they were faced with now, so be it. But that would be later. Much later, long after he'd lost all reason to fight – supposing he ever did. The thought of putting down his sword and living a normal life, after all, had Ike feeling at odds. Could he? Would he be able to? A warrior's life was the only one he had known. The only peaceful times he could recall were ones he had been told of – he remembered not the peaceful days of his youth in Gallia, of the times when his father wasn't a mercenary leader. The days spent with the Greil Mercenaries were the only ones he remembered, and though he'd not been fighting until many years later, growing up in such an environment made it as though he had.

"So," Titania started, an involuntary frown forcing her lips into a downward curve, surely as a byproduct of the almost unnaturally tense atmosphere, "what do you think, Ike?"

"We'd been getting hints of this for a while now," Ike responded neutrally. His face, much to Titania's surprise, lacked the sense of worry one would expect to see from a man in a position such as his. "What are the odds, Shinon?"

"Crimea's entire army. Only the Royal Guard and the Royal Knights are hanging back."

It was then that Ike frowned, "A force like that could force Begnion from Daein, if it really wanted to."

"If they cross the border," Soren sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Daein will be torn apart. If we are going to fight – and it goes without saying that putting up a stand is foolish – it would have to be before they cross the border."

"Running isn't an option either," Ike protested, albeit evenly, remaining indifferent and strictly professional despite his obvious feelings on the matter. "If for no other reason than that we are under a contract."

Ike was pleased to find that his words did not bother his mercenaries in the slightest. Even Rofl, remotely more timid than the rest as he was, showed a readiness for battle and a trust for Ike's decision making skills. A trust Ike himself found that he was lacking, though he'd never show any signs of it.

"Who is in charge?" Soren asked neutrally, though he did send an exasperated look to Ike secretly. Clearly, Ike thought sourly, he would have to pay Soren a hefty bonus if they survived long enough to see payday.

"The letter addressed to our prisoner didn't say," Shinon replied casually.

"An army of that size won't be commanded by a low ranking Commander," Titania put in quickly.

"That means we are up against Ludveck himself," Soren mused quietly. "He is smart, but he is also a quissential noble – and very arrogant. He will not allow our fate to be controlled by any other."

"He is an imposing man," Titania explained, scowling. "From what I remember, Duke Felirae has always run things in a way that suited only himself. He is a firm believer in the ends justifying the means, and it wouldn't surprise me if he were willing to sacrifice his men pointlessly if it gave him an advantage."

Ike idly ran his index finger along the length of his sword's blade, frowning. "A more sane Ashnard, then," he quipped sourly.

Titania chuckled, despite the grim nature of their situation, and the scowl remained firmly in place all the while, "I am inclined to wonder which is more sane, but that is a good way to put it."

"I fear for Crimea's safety," Shinon then muttered, sardonically. "Why not just cut them off at Oribes? We hardly need an overwhelming force to keep them in place on a bridge."

"And their numbers will make advancing in great numbers difficult," Soren added, nodding. "It's our only hope."

Ike hefted his sword high into the air before letting it crash down lightly upon his shoulder plating. As though it were some secret signal everyone followed suit, gathering their belongings. Oscar and Titania set to packing their saddle bags, storing away everything either unnecessary or too heavy to be carried on hand. While everyone else worked on packing away the supplies that could be carried on hand, Shinon and Rolf scoured for any prey they could hunt for extra food. Any stray animals, from the odd deer or rabbit – although the latter was wishful thinking on the parts of the hunters, given it's rarity in Daein's inherently colder climate – to the many birds that were just in the midst of making their families in the treetops were fair game, and in a matter of minutes the two had secured at least another week's worth of food for the entire group.

When at long last all the packs had been filled, horses fed and their game skinned of fur and feathers, the sun had reached the center of the sky. It's rays had finally begun to warm the mercenaries despite the cold air that remained strong all throughout the day, making the first leg of their journey much easier than it could have been. The sun had reached the horizon once again by the time the group reached the main road, all but promising them a safer journey from then on. Ike had some reservations over walking along the main road in broad daylight – though the odds that Begnion would be sending patrols as far as the main road when Crimea was the only thing that lay waiting beyond it, there wasn't a brain cell in his head unaware of the fact that moving along the main road in the middle of the afternoon when you're wanted by two countries was suicidal.

"We'll keep going until sunrise," Ike said as soon as they'd come to a stop at the forest's edge. Oscar had taken a pot out and, laying it atop a pile of burning logs – courtesy of Soren – was in the midst of carefully cooking dinner without alerting anyone to their presence, which proved to be quite a difficult task. On several occasions Oscar had to request that Soren scatter the rising smoke with a blast of wind magic. No comments were made upon Ike's decision until they were well into a rather delicious dinner, even by Oscar's standards, consisting of intricately spiced meat and vegetables of relatively unknown origin. If anyone had any reservations about being on the move for another twelve hours, the miraculous effects of Oscar's cooking on their weary bodies and minds was enough to blow all reservations to the wind.

Despite the mood-lifting the mercenaries' camp received with the best food they'd had in days, nobody spoke throughout it. It seemed as though, for reasons unknown, the dinner had secured a place as a holy device that dared not be tainted with things as fickle and meaningless as words. It appalled Ike that food could be shown such reverence every time he considered it, but that incredulity faded the moment he took another bite of the wonderful meat – was it deer? - placed before him, every single time. When at last he finished he found himself in unusually high spirits, going so far as to offer an enthusiastic, "Thanks," to Oscar as he rose to his feet, stretching out the muscles in his legs. He could feel Oscar's pride soar even with his back turned.

This journey to their seemingly inevitable demise would be just a little bit lighter now. It wouldn't necessarily be any easier, and what awaited them at the end of this journey was not the desired outcome they had envisioned in fleeing from the watchful eye of Crimea. But there was hope yet to remedy their situation – if not clear their name, at least keep their heads intact – without involving Daein further. Ike knew that, if nothing else, Daein had to be kept out of it. Win or lose, Crimea would turn home at Oribes. The Dawn Brigade would continue the fight and the damage Ike dealt to Daein would slowly heal. That, to him, held priority over all else.

* * *

The amount of activity about the camp, even at night, never ceased to amaze Sothe. Just in front of him there were soldiers sparring with one another, striking and blocking mechanically, as though performing a coordinated movement previously planned. Further off to the side were the few mages their army yielded, participating either in rigorous mental challenges to highten their senses – Ilyana had, in a bout of unexpected wisdom, explained that complete awareness was important to avoid being made victim of by a stray swordsman, particularly when you were cut off from your allies – or duels, small streams of fire or sudden bolts of lightning singeing the grass lightly layering the ground.

Further to the right side of their small clearing were an array of targets, placed either on wood planted in the ground or hung from the branches of trees. Small holes were common on all of the targets from where arrows had lodged themselves, centering mainly around the center of the targets. The lack of light had only the best of the army's archers still practicing. Sothe heard another round of applause as Leonardo expertly placed an arrow in the center of a target hidden amongst several trees, covered so well that Sothe couldn't see it from his place, seated against the side of his tent. Leonardo acted as though his feat had been nothing special, ignoring the praise and walking over to the target, prying his arrow from the center and inspecting it idly as he returned to where he'd started, taking aim at a target high amongst a few branches, obscured by leaves and bits of other branches. Again, he hit it in the center with ease.

Sothe watched all these happenings with a detached amusement from his seat off to the side. The collision of swords or of lances against shields constantly brought his attention back to the sparring field, only to lose his attention when one of their fire mages would cry out in surprise as a bolt of lightning would strike the ground nearby, or a thunder mage to cry out in alarm as he came within inches of being scorched by a stream of fire or a projectile fireball. Only the archers seemed capable of training in complete silence, Sothe noted.

Not taking his eyes from the amusing sight of Edward and two swordsman locked in a rather intricate position, with Edward's leg placed between the two of them for leverage and his sword held horizontally and keeping both opposing blades still against the sharp edge of his, Sothe idly grabbed at the still open book resting beside him. A rather boring treatise on military strategy, Sothe knew, but he suffered through it regardless. The insightful knowledge on military tactics beyond his observation of Soren's genius in the art long ago would help tremendously when their commander had no experience of her own, and there had been no disputing that Sothe would have the most patience for studying such things. And, he recalled Micaiah saying, Sothe just seemed to have a natural affinity for things like military strategy and battle tactics.

That sentiment, however, hardly comforted Sothe, and within five minutes he had tossed the book aside again. Necessity be damned, he most certainly lacked this affinity Micaiah spoke of. How was he supposed to figure out how to use military formations, read enemy formations and coordinate attacks he didn't even understand? "I can't even tell the difference between attacking head on and from the side!" he exclaimed frustratedly.

"Attacking from the side," Tauroneo explained, coming up beside Sothe and looking down at him, eyes all but screaming out the amusement dancing in them, "is no different from attacking from the front. They would see it coming. But if you attack from the front and side at once, you force them to turn to face you, and there will always be one side with an advantage, fighting with the enemy's back to them."

Sothe lifted the book and scanned it for a moment. Sure enough, the book explained exactly what Tauroneo had just said, if in significantly harder to understand terminology. "And attacking the enemy from behind can be done independently of a frontal attack, but can be hard to pull off and is often dependant upon terrain?" he asked as he read into the next section, where a small map detailed two armies, one of which had a blue arrow that extended to the right, curving around what seemed to be a mountain and pointing toward the backside of the opposing army.

"Attacking from behind is most effective in ambushes," Tauroneo corrected. "Say, for example, you were trying to eliminate an enemy camped just beyond a ravine. The simplest way of delivering heavy damage would be to lure them into the ravine and then cut off the road through which they had come." As Tauroneo said this he pointed toward the map detailed on the page, using his finger to show his point. "It is rather basic and any good military commander would be aware of such an issue in a ravine, but few of Begnion's commanders are anything but arrogant fools who expect to crush us through overwhelming force. Even basic tactics will turn the tide in our favor."

"And simple terrain facts – elevation and proximity to water," here Sothe looked down at the book for guidance as he went on, "can determine the fate of a battle if you know how to use them to your advantage or how to neutralize the disadvantage they provide." He looked up at Tauroneo and frowned, cocking an eyebrow, "Which means what, exactly?"

"If you are fighting an enemy who has their backs to water, Sothe, what would be the logical thing to do?" Tauroneo asked with a laugh.

"Well," Sothe tapped a finger to his chin for a moment before nodding to himself, appearing satisfied with his deduction, "it would be logical to hit them head on, right? If they have the water to their back, all they can do is fight back or take the plunge."

"Partly," Tauroneo conceded. "But it's essential that you hit them brutally. If you simply attack, they could drive you back. You've got to pressure them, try to force them into a watery grave." Sothe nodded in understanding, and Tauroneo then asked, "I trust you understand what it means by elevation?"

"The use of high ground, like with hills or mountainsides, right?"

"Exactly. So, what would be reasonable in the case of having the high ground?"

"You have momentum," Sothe said immediately. "All you really have to do is maul them. They can't fight well from lower ground, and so long as you hit them hard, it would be easy to stave them off." Appearing not entirely satisfied with his answer, Sothe frowned, "Right?"

"More or less," Tauroneo shrugged, "The difference isn't as monumental as you may think. In actuality the only great advantage is with ranged weaponry, as it is far easier to fire downward than having to fire upward."

"Which means having lower ground can be disastrous if you haven't prepared against projectiles," Sothe decided with a frown. "That bodes ill for us."

"Not necessarily," Tauroneo countered.

"Why not?" Sothe scowled, pondering, but he came up with the same blank result regardless. "There really isn't anything you can do about the advantages of high ground, is there?"

"Sure there is." Tauroneo dropped to a knee by Sothe, reading over his shoulder for a moment before explaining, "If there is cover to be taken, you can use that. No matter how high up they are, it is never easy to aim through treetops or into bushes. Consider that."

"And if there isn't?"

"Then you revert to the simple principles of warfare," Tauroneo explained matter-of-factly. "It is very hard to provide provisions to an army camped upon a hill or mountain, due to the fact that supply routes would need an open pathway up the mountainside. Cut that off, and it would be easy to flush them out. No army can function without provisions, right?"

"What if they have a lot of supplies on hand?" Sothe asked, considering that question to himself all the while. "If the enemy is prepared for a long battle, they'd have a lot of food ready, right?"

"Indeed they would," Tauroneo nodded, smiling in satisfaction of Sothe's reasoning. "But water is just as much a necessity as food. And most water would come from streams or lakes, none of which can be found on mountaintops. Water demands constant resupplying, no matter how prepared an army is." As an afterthought he added, "And trust me, dry throats will lead a man to do some very desperate things."

"But cutting supply routes off to a foe with high ground would involve surrounding their position. Which, in our present case, might as well be impossible," Sothe noted duely, scratching at the back of his neck. "Which means flushing them out would be impossible," he mused as an afterthought, hanging his head as he considered alternatives. Alternatives he was still trying to acquaint himself with, no less.

"Then if you have to fight your way to them, what would you want to target?" Tauroneo pressed, egging Sothe along.

"Their ranged weaponry, obviously," Sothe waved a hand dismissively. "Without ranged weaponry, all we'd need to do is secure some sort of ground to even the odds and then overpower them."

"And how would you target them?"

"By air would make the most sense," Sothe mused, "but that could be fatal if they have archers deployed. Even if it did work, we'd risk too many casualties."

Despite the fact that Sothe had yet to come up with a solution, Tauroneo grinned and patted him on the shoulder. "You're thinking like a tactician now," he praised. "So as a tactician, what do you think the best solution would be? Remember it isn't your job to protect everyone, but to achieve success while protecting as many as possible. If you are afraid of losing a single man, you will only find yourself in the rut you are in now."

"Well," Sothe thought for a moment, "in this instance the enemy's position won't be the only high ground. If we can find high ground of our own to secure, we can post our own archers there to keep their's at bay, right?"

"The archers would ultimately be wiped out without support though, right?"

Sothe frowned, "Yeah, they would. Begnion outnumbers us too vastly."

"Don't give up." Tauroneo stood up, banging a fist against his breastplate supportively. "Remember what I told you, and figure it out. I'm sure you'll do just fine, Sothe."

And despite his own worries, Sothe found that he agreed with Tauroneo. He could do this.

* * *

"Agh," Gatrie groaned, hiding amongst the rubble of the bridge, torn up during previous marches across it, "why must it be so hot?"

"Because," Boyd interjected with a sigh, crouched low beside Gatrie, "this wouldn't work so well otherwise."

"I can't believe the commander is considering a plan like this," Gatrie groused, his shield clanging loudly as he ran a hand through his matted hair. "Relying on the heat to distract them long enough to be onslaughted as they come? Even if it did work, and I'm not saying it will," he frowned and kicked at a small rock at his feet, making it skip several times before plunging off the side of the bridge and into the waiting tides below, "I'm sure they'll catch on and cut us down quickly enough anyway."

"Shut it," Shinon seethed, from his position high up in a tree not fifty feet away. "Just remember to hold up your shield and aim for the throats. The faster they die, the better."

The entire afternoon had been rather tense that day. By dawn the mercenaries had reached the Great Bridge, and a quick trip to the other side by Titania and Oscar had confirmed that the Crimean army could be seen on the horizon. That, to the bemusement of most, had been ten hours ago. Ten hours of hiding, revealing themselves only long enough for a quick meal – Ike had decided that Oscar's cooking was a better rallying call than any speech and thusly stated that the risk of Ludveck arriving during lunch was worth it – had left everyone tense, watching the horizon constantly for signs of the enemy's approach. The only signs thus far had been the occasional scout, probably as a safety insurance on Ludveck's part to ensure they weren't intruding upon a Begnion operation of some sort. Even Soren, who's responses to their detriment all day had been snappy remarks, had given up on quelling the anxiety they all felt.

"Shinon, Shinon!" Rolf insistently tapped at his shoulder with one hand, pointing toward the opposite end of the bridge with the other. "Isn't that too many people for a scouting party?"

Shinon looked, wordlessly, and then nodded. "It is." He looked down toward Gatrie and Boyd and called, "Get ready, you two. They're sending an advance party. The main army must be right behind."

Ike, having taken cover far away along the left side of the bridge, seemed to have noticed the same thing. Looking back, he waved Oscar and Titania – both of which had been hiding near further away from the bridge – closer to him with one hand while yelling, "Get your weapons ready. They're coming!"

The first wave of Crimea's army looked imposing, to say the least. The entirety of the first three lines were knights in heavy armor, and trailing behind them were lighter armored soldiers with anything ranging from a lance to a longsword. Circling overhead was a small squad – only ten or so in number, thankfully – of Pegasus-riding soldiers, with lances in hand and what seemed to be javelins strapped to the side of their mounts. The only saving grace was that their army seemed to be lacking in archers. The mass of soldiers marched with a theatric drama, moving in perfect time with the one next to them. Which meant, Ike decided, that they weren't worried about the possibility of falling under attack, since they were still marching in formation with one another. They looked more like they were putting on a display than preparing to hunt down Crimea's Most Wanted.

Crumbling pieces of the bridge seemed to break free of their positions and fall to the ocean simply through the sheer strength of the amount of footsteps pressing in unison into the smooth surface of the bridge. The wind seemed dulled, blocked by the wall of suits of armor. The mercenaries tensed, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Which, despite how slow the enemy marched, didn't take long. As per plan, Shinon and Rolf initiated the fight, unloading arrows into the knights closest to the front, their arrows lodging between crooks in their armor. Before the Crimeans could even comprehend what had just happened, blood spilled onto the ground as two knights fell, causing several around them to trip over the unexpected obstacles. The knights circling overhead seemed to be on full alert then, searching the horizon for the source of the sudden attack. One dove toward a soldier who seemed to be a Lieutenant or of some similar rank, and when she returned to the skies the enemy broke all formation and charged, clearly aware of their presence.

"Form up!" Ike bellowed loudly, leaping up as Boyd and Gatrie took their places between two large piles of sandbags, bottlenecking the bridge. Ike took a ready stance beside Boyd, covering the opening left by his side. Oscar and Titania took up residence behind the piles of sandbags to prevent ambitious soldiers from climbing over them, already unloading javelins and hand axes into the knights closest to the front. Rolf and Shinon took a far more strategic approach, making short work of the Pegasus overhead. The dying masses plummeted to the ground below, crushing several soldiers each in their wake. While Soren and Rhys took place behind the three human walls to provide medical and magical support, Mia and Mist – the only two without a strict task already – hid behind a pile of sandbags further back, watching carefully for a hole to show that they would inevitably be needed to fill.

They didn't have to wait long for an all out onslaught to ensue. The soldiers came in streams, knocked back by powerful swings of either Ike's sword or Boyd's axe, with assistance from powerful horizontal slices from Gatrie's lance, left dying in a pool of their own blood. The corpses quickly began to pile up, forcing soldiers to take several seconds to kick aside their fallen comrades before advancing. This was a huge, inescapable mistake, as any who dallied for more than a second – and even those who didn't – fell victim either to a well aimed arrow or an agonizing burst of wind or light magic. The blood built into puddles quickly, forced to part when a soldier stepped into it, dripping off the side of the bridge.

For Ike, it was almost unbearable, the amount of death there was. His awareness heightened immediately; he could feel every stroke of the forceful gusts of wind against his face, every bone that crunched under the powerful swings of his sword, every scream the soldiers made as he ended their lives. One blood churning scream became five, and then ten, and before long thirty. Within minutes he'd lost count of how many he'd killed. There was no way he could keep up, no way he could focus on those screams, every bit as agonizing to him as they surely were to his foes. He wanted to cry out in agony with them, beg them to stop making noise as they died. Beg them to leave the world of the living peacefully, to give his sanity that tiny bit of reprieve. But he was not heeded. No, he was tormented.

No amount of killing could have prepared him for the kind of killing that was being done now.

Ike involuntarily winced every time he heard the sound of an arrow lodging into a soldier's skin – usually their throat – or the sound of magic, wind or light, rending through the armor like paper and ending any soldier's life with ease. When Boyd grunted and dug his axe into a soldier's chest, only to pull it back and groan in annoyance as blood subsequently sprayed out of the wound and onto him, Ike felt similarly disgusted. He could feel what everyone else felt as they slew, and that, heightened by his own senses as his sword rended through armor and flesh time after time, left him feeling as though he might bid farewell to Oscar's wonderful cooking at any moment.

So engulfed by it all was he that he didn't even notice when a spear got by his defenses and dug into his thigh. He didn't feel the pain as he idly tore it from his leg and tossed it aside, ending the life of the now-terrified soldier a moment later. He felt the relief of Rhys waving a heal stave over the wound a moment later and he felt the sticky feeling of his own blood against his leg cease to bother him. He muttered a thanks as he swept his sword in a diagonal motion, taking out three soldiers with a single swing. How many was that, now? He considered that silently as he took a step forward, swinging his sword horizontally back and forth repeatedly, digging into armor and flesh several times with each swing.

Within five minutes, he'd heard so many screams that surely they must have been exhausting the sheer numbers of Crimea's army. He was sure of it! There had to be thousands of corpses littering the bridge by that point, though in reality it was only a couple hundred. Oscar and Titania had already exhausted their supply of ranged weapons, retreated to restock and then return, unloading more javelins or hand axes into their foes. Up above, Shinon and Rolf had to have fired well over a hundred arrows each. And yet, looking upon the waves of soldiers charging at them, seemingly undaunted by the amount of corpses they had to climb over as they went, it felt as though they hadn't so much as scratched the enemy. Looking at the torrent of soldiers charging, they seemed no less numerous than when the battle had begun.

"There are only a handful of them!" that Lieutenant-esque soldier cried from amidst the swarms of Crimean soldiers. "Slaughter them!"

The soldiers redoubled their efforts, but even that failed to amount to much. There was an instance or two where the constant demand to keep swinging had forced Ike to take a step back, using the time it would take his immediate foes to climb over their comrades as a window to catch his breath. But even with that all three held strong, aided as they were by the many projectiles being fired from various places behind them. Ike could feel his muscles straining under the constant stress of swinging and the additional stress of the extra effort he would then put into breaching armor and bone, but he ignored them. Every now and then Soren or Rhys would pause in their efforts to wave their staves over their three shields, and that would grant Ike a second wind all over again.

When the soldiers began to realize just how hopeless their efforts were, it stopped being a matter of overrunning the mercenaries. To them, Ike realized bemusedly, it became a matter of being the one to finally kill one of the mercenaries. Anything resembling a formation was lost as the soldiers all scrambled to be at the front of the line, and several unfortunate knights – bulkier and infinitely more immobile than their more lightly armored allies – were shoved off the side of the bridge. Were Ike not so engrossed in the battle then, in trying to keep the desperate white armored soldiers from pushing past him, he would have ogled that occurrence. Before long, seeing a soldier or two tossed aside became a regular occurrence, making the mercenaries' job all that much easier.

"Will they ever _stop_?" Gatrie cried in exasperation, effortlessly sweeping his lance across. Soldiers cried out in alarm and then agony as his lance both knocked them over and either severely wounded or outright killed them. Those that weren't killed were dead moments later, crushed by their stampeding comrades.

Boyd yelled out something incoherent as he drove his axe through two still-distant soldiers, pulling back just in time to avoid Oscar's lance thrusting over the top of the sandbags and digging into a soldier's chest. As he turned toward his next foe he threw a cocky grin on his face and, glancing at Gatrie out of the corner of one eye, taunted, "Getting tired?"

"Not..." Gatrie paused as he drove his lance through a soldier's face, wincing at the expected sound of bones breaking apart. "At..." he brought his lance into and upward positon and thrust his shield forward, catching two soldiers unaware, who were then pushed back – and their lances broken – by the large shield. "... All!"

"It is getting tiresome," Ike noted sourly, throwing his head back just in time to avoid a sword to the face, countering by digging his sword into the offending soldier's face. "Soren, is there any way we can get them to retreat?"

"Keep swinging," was Soren's helpfully monotone response.

"Great," Ike sighed, though he did as instructed. His sword hooked under the arm of an approaching soldier, and with a flick of the wrist he sent the soldier flying backwards, knocking over several others in landing. "Rhys, fall back and rest up – you need it. Tell Mist to replace you."

"Thanks, Ike," Rhys sighed, suddenly sounding far more tired than his carefully even breathing would have suggested.

Mist seemed to be in far higher spirits than anyone else when she took Rhys' place, waving her heal stave immediately over a slightly oozing would on Boyd's right arm. She winced subconsciously however when she caught sight of Ike violently driving his sword through two soldiers in a single movement, sending blood spraying all over him, some flying past him and hitting Mist and Soren. This didn't seem to bother her, however. But when Boyd ducked low under a lance thrust, crashing his lance down on the soldier's head before lifting himself again – Mist was fixed on the sight of the soldier's head splitting in two under the sheer force of the strike – she cried out in alarm before she could help herself.

"Focus on healing, Mist," Ike growled, not bothering to glance back before taking two swift steps forward, swinging furiously at an approaching group of soldiers. When the numbers taking their places grew too many he fell back again, wincing from time to time as he stepped upon a soldier's arm or leg, feeling the weakened bones crunch beneath him. Stepping over a pile of three – or was it four? - bodies, Ike became suddenly aware of how sore his legs were. They had taken numerous hits, had threatened to buckle when a corpse slammed into them more than once, and had been forced to endure what had seemed like an endless amount of time holding ground against enemy attacks.

"Ike," Soren called over the din of battle, unsuccessfully. He waved his arm, turning the wind around him into sharp blades of magical energy that circled around Ike and into a nearby soldier, cutting into one side of his body and arriving on the other side moments later, repeating several times in rapid succession, and by the time they'd faded away and merged with the ever blowing wind around them the soldier had been disfigured beyond recognition, falling into several pieces as he collapsed to the ground. "Ike!" Soren called again, louder, and this time he saw Ike look back slightly while in mid-swing.

"What is it?" he asked impatiently, and Soren could tell he didn't feel comfortable distracting himself as he was.

Soren pointed to a crowding group of soldiers that otherwise seemed to be isolated from the rest, "Their commander is probably in there. Take him out and the rest will probably retreat."

"Easier said than done," Ike grunted, bringing his sword up swiftly enough to block a vertical slash from a rather large looking axe, making his knees cry out in protest under the hefty weight. "Have you seen how many there are?"

"Gatrie can cover more ground," Soren responded indifferently, pausing briefly to go through the repeat process of turning the wind around him into projectile weapons and launching them toward a rather large soldier resting just out of range of Titania's ever swinging axe. "And Rhys can come back out here."

Ike didn't respond at first, busying himself with clearing the soldiers starting to gather around Titania's sandbag pile, threatening to overtake her position. "And where in this battleplan is my health insurance?"

"You're holding it."

"I see." Ike seriously considered it for a moment before he looked over his shoulder, keeping his blade held across his chest, it's broad width acting as a rather effective shield, "Send him up here. I'll fight my way through." He then turned toward Oscar, talking while returning to the offensive against two swordsmen at once, "Tell Shinon and Rolf to give me cover fire."

A moment of silence passed, filled only by the sounds of soldiers crying out as they died and metal against metal, or bone against metal – none of which Ike still recognized as anything other than sounds as common as a bird's tweats or the whistling of wind. Then, Oscar said, "They're ready and waiting. We'll hold this position as long as we can."

Nodding, Ike broke into a dash. As a lance reached out at him he ducked under it, swinging his sword in an upward arc to the left, taking out any soldiers within reach, only momentarily slowed as his sword tried to cut through the thick metal of the soldiers' armor. To his right, any attempts to catch him off guard were put to rest – forcefully, by way of arrows lodging either in a random crook in their armor or directly into their throat. Ike gave them no more than a quick glance as he twisted around a sword swiftly, holding his sword out and crashing it into the swordsman's chest, as though her were trying to bowl him over with his arm. The desired result was much the same, albeit far more bloody in the end.

The waves of soldiers surrounding him brought Ike to a grim reality. As brutal as this battle had been, it was preliminary at most. This was nothing more than an advance force, maybe one fifth the size of Crimea's full army. And with this battle, they had lost the element of surprise – however meager that had turned out to be in the end. In the back of his mind, though Ike would never openly acknowledge it, Ike wondered if they truly were doomed. As he cut through soldier after soldier, feeling nothing but the bones both beneath his feet and at the tip of his sword or the rubble carelessly kicked aside as he went, though, Ike discarded such thoughts. Whatever their future held, they would pave it themselves. If that future was their untimely – or overdue, he thought darkly – demise, so be it. At least he would go down fighting.

Ike leaped over a small barrier constructed out of stone, meticulously placed in the middle of absolutely nowhere simply for his annoyance, and immediately drove his shoulder into the face of a waiting soldier. As the soldier staggered Ike finished him off by way of decapitation, grabbing his shield and forcing it from his hand as he fell. He immediately turned and ducked, raising the shield just in time to block an axe. As expected, the offender immediately got struck in the side of the head by an arrow, and Ike turned once again, taking great care to aim as he plotted out his every movement. Block, strike at chest, block with shield, strike at throat... Every move was calculated, making sure that he had enough room to block the next incoming attack. It wasn't long before he became blind to everything else, seeing only the movements of the soldiers around him, watching every shield raise, every lance thrust and every sword swing. It all seemed to move in slow motion, countless things coming at him at once, and no matter how much time he had Ike knew he would be unable to escape it all.

At a far faster rate, arrows suddenly began to unload themselves into the soldiers surrounding him, one by one. Ike raised his head slowly, raising an eyebrow when he saw Shinon standing atop the small barrier, looking all too smug with himself. "Idiot," he smirked, looking down at Ike. "You can't just go and die. I still have to kick your ass, remember?"

"And you're allowed to die here?" Ike smirked, realizing with a rush that he was still in great danger. He threw up his sword just in time to catch a sword on it, throwing aside the shield in his left hand in favor of a stronger offense.

With a skill only Shinon could possibly possess, he leaped from his vantage point to the ground below, taking advantage of the fact that the soldiers to his back had their backs to him – distracted as they were with the duty of breaching the inhuman wall of Gatrie and Boyd – to focus on the offensive to his front, firing arrows in rapid succession wherever Ike wasn't aimed. All the while both kept smirks on their faces, matching eachother kill for kill, suddenly relishing in the sounds of death their successful attacks resulted in. Neither particularly cared that their bodies ached so terribly that their every movement was a cry to let themselves finally die, taking the exhaustion as a sign of their own achievement.

"Take out the head, leave the body to rot?" Shinon offered with a smirk, with his back now pressed against Ike's, both working – half unintentionally – to defend the other.

"This knife will need a bit of cover," Ike retorted, cutting at another foolishly brave soldier. "This body is huge."

Nothing more needed to be said. They both lunged away from eachother, Ike swinging at anything within proximity of him as he worked his way to the opening where the commander would surely be and Shinon firing at anything that moved within ten feet of Ike's back. On several occasions Shinon paled when his first attempt to reach for a new arrow came up dry, only to find one still in his quiver on the second try, and he began to improvise by digging any usable arrows out of the mess of bodies strewn about. By the time he'd refilled his quiver he'd lost sight of Ike, forcing him to close one eye and use his perfect marksman's vision to locate a mop of blue hair flowing wildly amidst a crowd of soldiers. And thus the carnage found itself starting anew.

Contrary to Shinon's suspicion, however, Ike was far from being in any peril. The soldiers crowded around him watched as he locked blades with their commander, a man of blue hair much the same as Ike's, albeit longer and better cared for. "You again, huh?" Ike growled, swiftly overpowering Yeardley with a rough push against his sword, knocking the heavily armored commander off balance.

"You really are a cockroach, Sir Ike. When will you finally die?" Yeardley snarled, but Ike could see the fear dancing in his eyes simply from being in Ike's threatening presence.

"After you," Ike replied with mock courtesy, right before driving his sword roughly into Yeardley's rib cage. The thick armor around him cushioned the blow, but it ultimately struck home, forcing him to cry out in agony.

"Bastard!" Yeardley barked as he held his side, all pretense of composure completely lost.

Ike smirked, "I take it these men will simply kill me the moment I kill you." He ran a hand casually through his hair and, when Yeardley offered no reply, stomped down on the man's foot roughly. "So you will run away with your life. Take your army with you, and tell your worthless dog of a Duke that Sir Ike and the Greil Mercenaries are waiting for him."

"You will die! We will overwhelm you, cut you to pieces, and go home heroes."

"We?" Ike raised an eyebrow, "I could make sure you never return home if I wanted."

"And sacrifice your own life?"

"You seem so sure I will die here anyway," Ike laughed, but his face was contorted in a baleful scowl.

"And so you shall," Yeardley pretended to act composed as he backed away, tentatively at first before regaining some of his haughty attitude. "This shall not be our last battle, Sir Ike."

"I will not run," Ike promised. "I have no tail to put between my legs. Now run with your's, before I decide to take it too."

* * *

"A small mercenary group," Ludveck spat, the words acid on his tongue, capable of burning a hole through anything unlucky enough to be struck by them. Which, Yeardley thought as he resisted the urge to whimper in Ludveck's presence, wouldn't have been a bad proposition at that moment. Perhaps being burnt away to nothing would be refreshing. If nothing else, he could get away.

Then again, if Ludveck's acidic tongue failed him, the heat around them would do a fine job itself. Ludveck's tent, decorated with the finest luxuries one could reasonably afford, luxuries that he most certainly could afford, was even more dangerous in temperature than the relative heat the Goddesses had seen fit to grace them with that day. Yeardley could feel sweat pooling just about everywhere on his body simply from standing in the tent. That sweat only intensified with the nervous spell that fell over him as his eyes regarded the many weapons adorning the tent: racks of polearms of all sorts on either side of the throne-like seat Ludveck was seated in, and two axes crossed over one another against a plaque behind him, hanging mysteriously from the delicate material of the temp.

"Yes, a small mercenary group," Yeardley repeated shakily.

"A small mercenary group." Ludveck said again, louder, though he remained as calm and nonchalant as ever. "You lost – with our entire advance force, no less – to a small mercenary group. Morale has been shaken! The troops sleep in fear of the small mercenary group camped across the river. They are only men!"

"They are not to be taken so lightly, Sir. They made effective use of the terrain and held our forces back through sheer force of will."

"You outnumbered them five hundred to one," Ludveck hissed.

"That battle was not one that could have been decided in numbers," Yeardley retorted, still cringing at the only half-day old memory.

It was a good thing Ludveck had a natural affinity for keeping himself composed at all times, else Yeardley certainly surmised the eyes he was looking into at that moment would be absolutely murderous. "Anyway," Yeardley went on, pointedly ignoring the fact that he was theoretically hanging on the tip of Ludveck's thus merciful patience, "they survived because they used the terrain to their advantage. So long as we neutralize their terrain advantage, we can slaughter them."

"I would still like to make one final try to win them over," Ludveck sighed, dejected. "Power like their's is much better used than wasted."

"What shall we do, then?" Yeardley asked.

"Remoralize the troops and try again. I will take them out myself."

The air grew stale as Yeardley fought for an intake of breath, his throat thoroughly dry and sore from the humid air. When he'd managed to gather enough air to safely speak without risk of it sounding as though he'd had his vocal cords severed, he said, "Yourself? Sir, is that a good idea?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

Yeardley cleared his throat once, then twice for good measure, before speaking, "I have fought Sir Ike twice, Sir. He is not to be taken lightly. None of them are."

"They are human," Ludveck retorted dismissively. "Strong they may be, but not invincible. Hit them enough times and they will dull. And a dull weapon is worthless."

"But the casualties ---"

"--- Are necessary. I've taught you that much, haven't I?" When Yeardley failed to respond, Ludveck smirked. "It is human nature for the weak to be used by the strong. They are disposable. They can be replaced. It is the ones that are unique, that stand above the weak, that we need to protect. In this case, we are the strong and those beneath us are the weak. I will not remind you of that again."

"Of course, Sir. When will you attack?"

"Tonight," Ludveck responded, almost too quickly. "They will only gain a greater advantage with time."

"I will prepare the knights to watch your back, then?" Yeardley asked, disgusting even himself with the way he sounded like a child asking his parents if they needed help with some monotonous task.

"I don't think it will be necessary," Ludveck said, "but the extra insurance couldn't hurt."

"Remember not to take them lightly, Sir. Watching every angle will be necessary if we want to avoid disaster."

Ludveck's inherently calm nature broke ever so slightly then and, although his expression remained neutral, he stood in a huff, tearing one of the axes from the plaque behind him and swinging it, bringing it to a halt at Yeardley's throat. "I am aware," he growled, "of the enemy's strength. Do not think me a fool, Yeardley."

All Yeardley could do in the face of such imposing strength was nod.

* * *

"Begnion camped in the mountain pass?!" Izuka all but screamed, frustration dripping from every word. "I told you not to trust her too highly, Prince! We're doomed now! Attacking Terin will be the end of us all!"

"Not necessarily," Pelleas protested hopefully. "What do we do now, Micaiah?"

Micaiah frowned, clearly at a loss herself. "Their position is strong. There is the forest to our west and the mountains to the north, and the gate at the mountain pass is heavily fortified. They know what they are doing."

"You're a seer!" Izuka screeched. "Surely you can see some miraculous plan forming – by me, of course – and guiding us to victory!"

"My visions are of impending danger, not of promising victory," Micaiah protested calmly. "But even so, we can do this. We just need to think this through, Prince Pelleas."

"... You're right," Pelleas said softly, willing his nerves to a calm. "What are our surroundings like?"

"Mountainous," Tauroneo explained. He pulled a map out from beneath his breastplate, spreading it out over the table in front of them. It detailed every square inch from several miles behind their location to the mountain pass in the northwest. "We won't be able to climb them on foot, for sure. That gives us no advantage."

"Is there any way to get our forces up there?" Micaiah asked, clearly perplexed.

"Only my wyvern knights," Jill responded with a frown. "But even Begnion understands the necessity for archers. If we tried to camp on mountains anywhere near the mountain pass, we'd be downed in seconds." As an afterthought she added, "I suppose it would be possible to drop a unit off and then get out of there, but lingering would be disastrous."

"Perfect," Sothe said suddenly, revealing to all his presence at the opening to the command tent. He watched the bemused group around the table warily before he went on, "Prince Pelleas, may I?"

"You may," Pelleas nodded, urging him on.

Sothe walked over to the map, grabbing the quill and ink from Pelleas' side and pulling it within reach. Dabbing the quill in the ink he began drawing on the map the general location of both their position and the enemy's. "Their position is strong. Attacking from the front will invite more casualties than we can afford, of course."

"What are you getting at?" Izuka sneered.

"This." With the quill he began to draw an arrow directing their army toward the center of the forest, and then another directing their army toward a small mountain overlooking the pass. "Our main army passes through the forest, hitting the enemy head on and drawing their attention. Then," he stressed this by pointing toward the second arrow, "Jill and her riders will carry Leonardo and a group of our best archers to this mountain, where they will begin targeting the enemy's archers. Jill's group will use the mountains as cover and make their way around to attack the pass from behind, while Micaiah and the main army should have reached the front side of the pass. With assistance from Leonardo and a two-pronged attack, casualties should be minimal and the pass will fall today."

"That's..." Even Izuka, the voice of everything self-worshiping and loathing of everything else, was at a loss for words.

"It will work," Jill said, surprising everyone with her ability to take Sothe's inexplicable genius in stride. "Begnion won't be expecting the use of such tact."

"Indeed," Tauroneo nodded, secretly sending Sothe an extremely pleased smile. "They will direct their focus upon the main army. In fact, I dare say that if the main army advanced far enough, they would be so daring as to abandon the pass and strike out with some of their forces."

"And," Sothe took the wheel of discussion again, "the area beyond the pass is level. They believe their backs to be secure, especially if the main army is camped atop the hills beyond, as can be expected."

"Such foresight," Pelleas breathed. "We shall put our faith in Sothe's words. How fast can we prepare?"

Sothe shrugged, "I took the liberty of explaining my plan to Leonardo and Nolan before I came here. As we speak, they are arming our troops and making sure they are fit for battle."

"You did what?" Izuka seethed, his voice returning to him. "We could have you flogged! How dare you act without your Prince's consent!"

"He acted in our better interest," Pelleas protested. "I thank you, Sothe."

"No thanks are necessary. If any are wanting, thank Micaiah." At the questioning glance everyone gave him, he shrugged, "She suggested I fill the empty role of battle tactician. Apparently, I seemed to have an affinity for it."

"Her suspicions are well earned," Pelleas beamed.

"I saw many great tacticians during the Mad King's War," Sothe protested. "Compared to Soren – the Greil Mercenaries' tactician – I am nothing."

"Even so," Pelleas stated, ignoring the tense atmosphere rapidly developing between Sothe and Micaiah, "your abilities are miraculous, if this was a recently developed talent."

"Sothe thanks you for his praise," Micaiah quickly said, before Sothe could throw in a random quip that certainly would have lacked the desired respect it should have held. Then turning to Jill, she asked, "How quickly can your knights take to the skies?"

"Soon," Jill off-handedly answered. "The wyverns will need feeding and outfitting before taking off – they always do prior to a battle."

"And our horses will need to be fed as well," Tauroneo added in.

"So..." Pelleas looked around nervously for a moment. "... An hour?"

"That shoud be enough," Sothe nodded. "I will let Nolan know, and I am sure Edward will want to be told, so he can pack up the many things he will want to cart off with him."

Micaiah took her leave soon after Sothe did, sighing rather loudly the moment she was free of the tense atmosphere. The sun hung high in the sky and soon dusk would fall over their quaint encampment, meaning they had all the more reason to act swiftly. As hopeful as she was about Sothe's unexpectedly insightful plan, Micaiah knew the disadvantage night would provide Jill and her knights. Palming her face suddenly, Micaiah pressed herself against the side of the tent for support as she massaged her forehead between her index finger and her thumb. Pelleas, who had been leaving the tent not far behind her, Micaiah remembered, looked over at her with concern, "You okay?"

"Fine," Micaiah waved a hand dismissively, forgetting for the briefest of moments who it was she was dismissing and who it was she had just spoken to as she would a regular acquaintance. Suddenly on full alert she frowned. "Sorry, Prince Pelleas. Must be the stress. I'll be fine."

"Don't overwork yourself," Pelleas pleaded. "Dedication is all well and fine, but you shouldn't endanger yourself over it."

"It's my job to," Micaiah groused, dismissing his worry. "I'll consider your words when the fighting is done."

"Remember you don't have to do everything alone," Pelleas soothed. He glanced inside the tent to where Tauroneo was still standing, and then across the field to where Sothe was talking with Ilyana and the other few mages of their small army. "You are invaluable, Micaiah, but you aren't alone. Sothe has proven himself capable, as you saw, and Tauroneo is a fine General. Remember that, will you?"

"I will," Micaiah said sincerely, pulling herself fully upright. "I should prepare myself for battle, though."

"I told you not to stand on such ceremony with me," Pelleas sighed, shaking his head. "Make sure you rest, though. Tonight, I shall leave reorganizing to Sothe and Tauroneo, presuming Sothe's planning ensures we live still tonight. Use that opportunity to rest."

"Shouldn't I..."

"That's an order," Pelleas said, surprising even himself with the force in his voice.

It seemed even Micaiah found herself surprised by it, but it took only a moment for a small smile to cross her face. Nodding in acceptance she said, "Yes, Your Highness."

She took off before Pelleas could catch her for her use of such niceties. She weaved through the many people now rushing to an fro to ready themselves, eager to escape the hectic nature of the camp for at least a few minutes. She knew better than to expect much more, but Pelleas had a point in saying she would be in trouble if she pushed herself too hard. It was her luck, then, that their camp was surrounded by trees. Nothing truly put her at ease better than the relaxed atmosphere of nature itself. Breaches in the folliage above casted eerie shadows around her; shapes of things that weren't there, formed by mixes of various casting shadows. There was something about the shadows, eerie as they were, that was oddly serene. A demented sense of companionship in solitude.

It was solitude like this that allowed her to think. Think of what? Micaiah absently scratched her cheek at that because, really, she had nothing to think about. ... The weather, perhaps? It was sunny, it was moderately hot – as 'hot' as 'hot' in Daein could be, that is – and it was ideal for the battle to come. That was that. So what of recent events, then? There wasn't any that really deserved extensive thought at the moment that hadn't already been aptly torn apart and deduced in their entirety, to the point where further thought would do nothing but disillusion her, plant worries that weren't worth worrying in her mind. That wasn't good at all. Which meant, she had absolutely nothing to think about. Unless the absolutely perfect conditions for a brief rest were worth thought. Wait, wasn't that partial to weather?

Micaiah groaned softly then. She had an hour – an _hour_ – to pack away a couple tomes. That left her with roughly fifty-nine minutes with which to do what she pleased. Which was... absolutely nothing. Micaiah grimaced at her own lack of things to do. Sitting around relaxing, however comforting when it was of her own volition, made her feel useless. She had to be doing something, anything, to keep herself from feeling useless. Usually the times when her schedule was empty had been filled by healing wounded soldiers and paying her respects to those beyond salvation, the latter of which had thankfully been quite rare. But that duty had lost it's purpose the day before, and all soldiers were up and on their feet again, training and sparring and getting their daily drills from Nolan.

"You must go to battle soon, no?" Micaiah slowly raised her head, raising an eyebrow in surprise when she saw the cloaked figure of Kurth looming over her, green strands of hair poking from beneath the brown hood and over his eyes. Even masked as they were, his eyes held an innocence that never ceased to bewilder Micaiah. What was it about him that so easily radiated kindness and sincerity? Like Pelleas in a way, though Kurth seemed to be a wellspring of knowledge, even if he had never left any evidence by which to make such a claim. He was a paradox that Micaiah decided she would never understand.

"Yes, I must," Micaiah responded, gesturing with a hand to a tree across from her. Kurth didn't take the seat offered, remaining in place. "Where have you been?" Micaiah then asked, if only for the sake of conversation.

"Ah." Kurth looked sheepish, as though the necessity to explain his random absence hadn't occurred to him.

"Ah?" Micaiah pressed, undeterred.

"I am a wanderer," Kurth replied, though Micaiah could tell it was simply to avoid directly answering her question. "And the desert heat was too much for me. I took my travelling elsewhere, and returned just this morning."

"I see," Micaiah nodded neutrally. "Where did your travels take you?"

"Talrega," Kurth responded immediately. "I had acquaintances in Talrega I wanted to meet with, and your venture into the desert provided me an opportunity to do so."

They fell into something resembling a companionable silence. Micaiah could tell Kurth was entertaining the idea of saying something, but he made no move to do so, instead letting the easy silence presented.

Which wouldn't have lasted as long as either would have liked. For there were things that needed saying, and little time with which to say it.

"Terin will soon become a battlefield," Micaiah stated idly, though despite all her attempts to fight it off she frowned. "We aren't as prepared as I would like, and I'm not sure I'm ready, but..."

"These are your duties," Kurth concluded with a smile. "You will carry them out well, I am sure."

Micaiah sensed something else on Kurth's mind and, though she had half a mind to avoid doing so, she pursued it, "A coin for your thoughts?"

"What?" Clearly, slang of the streets was lost upon Kurth, though Micaiah couldn't fathom why.

"What's on your mind?" she rephrased.

"Ah." Kurth's expression tightened for a minute and Micaiah began to think he wouldn't answer, but after a moment they softened again and he said, "You remind me of an old friend."

"Oh?"

"Yes," Kurth nodded. "Though I am sure you would loathe being told so."

Micaiah shrugged, "I'm interested." She didn't seem nearly as interested as her words suggested.

"You are reckless, though despite that you never fail," Kurth noted, looking reminiscent. "You concern yourself with the smallest of problems, even when you know you cannot help them. But despite these faults, you are a radiant light to everyone around you. People look to you for hope, for strength. You never back down, and you take the weight of every problem before you upon your shoulders. Caring, ruthless and determined, you are a paradox and an open book all at once." He was beginning to sound like a seer or a fortune teller, Micaiah noted wryly. "You are a hero. Or rather, a heroine, and that will be both a thousand blessings and a million curses upon you."

Definitely sounded like a fortune teller. Or perhaps simply a raving madman.

"Meaning?" Micaiah asked despite her inner pondering of Kurth's sanity, raising an eyebrow.

Kurth smiled, filling Micaiah with a sense of dread she knew she'd only brought upon herself, "You and Ike are far more similar than you would like to believe."

Micaiah was sure Kurth was perfectly aware of the anger quickly building up inside of her, but it was evident that he was either oblivious to the extent of that anger, or simply didn't mind it. That only served to irritate Micaiah more, and it took a lot of effort to keep her voice even as she asked, "Is that so?"

"Ike isn't that different from you, no," Kurth stated with a shrug.

Micaiah could feel her brows twitching with annoyance. "Explain."

"Tell me, Micaiah," Kurth said instead, crossing his arms. "If Crimea had invaded Daein three years ago and you were put through what the Greil Mercenaries went through," he paused to allow the absolutely seething look in Micaiah's eyes to gently subside, "would you be willing to destroy Crimea to restore Daein?"

"Of course I would!" Micaiah cried, before the weight of what she had just said hit her. She scowled moodily and crossed her arms, looking pointedly at the ground, much like a misbehaving child.

"Then why is Ike so horrible a person?"

As Kurth walked further into the forest, no doubt to escape the fighting – Micaiah vaguely remembered having been told he loathed fighting – Micaiah was left to brood over the words of wisdom imparted upon her.

* * *

"Is everything ready, Sothe?" An hour later, as promised, Micaiah was overlooking the forest before them from a small hill, dwarfed by the cliffs and mountains all around,. Sothe was next to her watching the soldiers take their positions under their respective group leaders. Despite her better wishes Sothe had persuaded Micaiah to abandon the frontlines in favor of trailing with the rear units, as it would make her seem like a more presentable commander while retaining the quality of fighting alongside her troops. In her stead, the small army had been placed under many different unit commanders who ultimately all answered to Tauroneo who, in turn, answered to her.

"Jill has Leonardo and his troops and are ready," he answered, looking toward a cliff where they were resting, watching the battlefield and waiting for their signal. "Zihark and his unit of swordsman are hiding amongst the thickets north of here, in case there are reinforcements waiting to hit us from behind. We have the light and we have the forest for cover, and we have the element of surprise." Sothe nodded, seeming satisfied with their preparations. "This battle is our's once you give the word, Micaiah. Are _you_ ready?"

"Our first true battle as an army," Micaiah sighed. "Here's hoping."

"Here's hoping," Sothe echoed.

With a wave, Micaiah sent a ball of light energy hurtling through the air. It rose until it was amidst the treetops, where it exploded. With a deafening cry the troops began to surge forward, holding their weapons high in the air as they ran. Armor shimmered in the remnants of the magic cast above, setting the entire forest alight with their presence, giving the illusion of soldiers sent by the very Goddesses to fight Begnion. Micaiah and Sothe watched them for well over a minute before moving to join them, giving eachother nods of confirmation. The illumination that lingered still far ahead served as a beacon as they ran, mixing in amongst the knights and cavalry that held up the rear guard, moving in sync with one another, loud stomps and hooves trotting mixing in a cacophony of sounds that resounded through the hills and mountains all around them.

* * *

The cover of night was just the thing for a mission of stealth. And that, among other things, was all Ike could really hope for to stave off seemingly inevitable extermination.

"The guards will be changing in a few minutes," Rolf's voice hovered to his ears from a tree above.

"That will be our chance," Shinon said, and from the corner of his eye Ike could see Shinon's fingers twitching, eager to have an arrow to wrap around, to place against the bowstring of his bow and let fly into the Crimean camp. Ike's fingers likewise twitched even while grasping his sword, the need to drive that massive sword through Ludveck's skull rising by the second.

Following the day's festivities and bloodshed, Soren had rather bluntly stated the need to turn the tables without bringing things down to another drawn out fight between them. Soren seemed rather certain that another fight without tipping the scale would be the end of them, and Ike found himself agreeing wholeheartedly.

It was this worry that put Ike where he was now. Precisely, hiding under the cover of night with Rolf and Shinon, preparing to set fire to and raid the Crimean army's storehouses. Deep within the camp much activity could be heard, and Rolf had already pointed out the departure of a squadron of knights away from the camp and what seemed to be preparations for a full scale assault. Ike had immediately deduced that to mean they were planning a second attack on the Greil Mercenaries under the cover of night, meaning the time frame they had to do the deed was even smaller than initially surmised.

"The guard is moving now," Rolf stated, readying an arrow to fire at a large white tent in the distance. Shinon reached over with a small torch, previously carefully hidden beneath the thick cloak he wore, and lit the tip of the arrow just before Rolf fired. The blazing arrow soared through the air and struck the top of the tent, black smoke rising immediately from where contact was made. The fire quickly spread to engulf the entire tent, illuminating the now chaotic camp with it's orange hues. Rolf reached over with his free hand and took the torch, lighting the tip of Shinon's arrow in order to repeat the process, this time setting aflame a stack of crates, surely storage for many supplies.

Ike didn't miss a beat. As soon as he saw the second arrow fire, he threw a light rune into the air as he broke into a dash, heading off the soldiers he could already see rushing to escape in any direction they could, terror stricken by the flames. The light rune acted as an effective signal, and soon the rest of the Greil Mercenaries were pouring across the bridge, ready to act upon this surefire victory.

Ike brought his sword down on a cowering soldier without remorse, grunting in annoyance when the contact between the tip of his blade and the helmet of the soldier jarred his shoulder painfully. He shrugged it off and gritted his teeth, kicking up dirt with his foot as he spun, blinding his next target long enough for him to be struck dead before his vision returned.

Meanwhile, Shinon and Rolf continued to take turns firing blazing arrows into the camp, setting alight anything that looked like it either held supplies or was flammable. Already several tents had been torn apart by the unforgiving flames, and several crates of supplies were still blazing. The Crimean camp was an absolute mess in the wake of it all,soldiers running to and fro; some with water, others simply with the intent to escape. Many had been trampled dead in the chaos of it all, corpses littering just about every inch of stone in the camp. Shinon had noted Ludveck fleeing north after his knights as soon as the first arrow struck, indicating that he either anticipated such an attack or had a safety insurance for himself in case of the possibility. Given what Shinon had heard of the man, he suspected the latter.

The soldiers Shinon saw Ike engaging looked to be the most frightened of all. Those that could even manage words stuttered hopelessly before crying out something akin to, "It's Sir Ike!" or "It's them!" - who called their enemy _Sir_, Shinon felt compelled to ask – before inevitably being struck dead by the mercenary's massive sword. Ike seemed to be enjoying himself, justifying every kill with the reasoning that it was a appetizer to the promise of killing Ludveck. "The pathetic duke," Shinon muttered angrily as he took aim once more, waiting for Rolf to light the tip before letting the arrow strike the wooden barricade that had been built around the camp. Soon, it seemed as though the camp were caught in a ring of fire.

Of the mercenaries moving to join the fight, Oscar and Titania arrived first. Ike had just finished beheading a swordsman when Oscar rode by, impaling a soldier on his lance as he went. Titania was just behind, swinging her axe down on the skull of a soldier unfortunate enough to have foregone his helmet. Ike took a moment to gather himself then, finally letting senses other than touch – and that sense had been allowed only out of necessity – pervade him. He could finally feel the brisk night air stinging his cheeks, the slight wind off of the ocean below tousling his hair. He could finally notice the fear in the eyes of the soldiers they fought, the faces of men already dead whom had died with their bowels emptied, he was sure. These details made him feel ill, though he was able to ignore the knot forming in his gut, tightening his grip on his sword for emphasis.

Mia shot him a smug smirk as she passed by and dug her sword into the gut of an unlucky swordsman, a smirk that silently spoke of her insistence in outperforming him. Rhys and Mist were close behind, immediately taking to pointing out places where they could keep themselves safe from enemies to one another. Ike heard Gatrie trailing behind as he turned toward a new foe, shutting his eyes tightly just in time to avoid a face full of sand and dirt. He brought his sword from his shoulder, over his head and heavily down upon the offending soldier's left shoulder, crushing the bone immediately and forcing him to drop the lance in his hand. He brought his shield up just in time to stop Ike's sword from digging into his ribcage, the round piece of metal jarring Ike's arms, threatening to tear his sword from his grasp even as the shield all but shattered from the impact. He held onto his sword with everything he had, waiting for the vibrating sensation in the arm to subside before repeating the motion, taking advantage of the lack of shielding that allowed his second slash to hit home, sending a sharp cry resonating through the air as the man beneath the white suit of armor fell to the ground, writhing in pain even in his last moments of life. He stilled soon after, his heaving chest coming to a gentle rest.

In the blink of an eye Ike had joined his comrades, stopping a soldier in his tracks as he tried to advance upon Mia from the side. His eyes widened and his jaw slacked, his skin paling as he realized just who it was he was now challenging. Ike's eyes narrowed as he set himself into an attack stance, legs shoulder width apart and sword held with both hands in front of him. The initial shock the soldier had faded quickly and he boldly attacked, likely drunk in the greed that surely corrupted his soul entirely the moment his head calculated the worth in being the one to strike Sir Ike dead. Ike swiftly bent his left arm upward and brought his sword up in a powerful backward swing, breaking the lance aimed for his chest with ease. He followed through with a step forward, bringing the sword back down again, across the soldier's chest. In the wake of the fresh corpse was another, whom Ike struck down with a powerful shove to the stomach with his foot followed by decapitation. Behind him, Mia cursed under her breath when she saw his effortless kills.

"I won't lose to you!" Mia shouted over the din of battle, grinning broadly as her sword left another soldier headless. Her next target was rudely stolen from her as an arrow lodged itself in the side of his head, signaling Rolf and Shinon's change of targets from the tents and flammables to the soldiers.

Indeed, the camp was bright as day from the flames rising high all around them, spreading steadily despite the lack of wind influence. The cackling noises of wood breaking under the consistent deterioration provided by the flames or the sounds of things falling as the flames left them incapable of supporting themselves were constant, leaving even the brief moments where there were no loud cries filling the air sufficiently filled with sound. The camp all around them was falling apart, and more and more soldiers were falling into the chaos, trampling their comrades. Many even took the plunge, forsaking logic and reason as they leaped into the ocean below, where they would inevitably drown sooner or later.

Whether or not Ike even noticed the flames was anybody's guess. Ike had since abandoned Mia's side and was fending off three swordsmen at once, exchanging blows with two while leaving the other with nowhere to move, lowering his shoulder to take the blow to the guard resting there as necessity dictated. On one side was a long train of burning crates and on the other a collapsing tent, surrounding him in flames. As they steadily grew they lashed out, some singeing his arms as they came to close to him. It seemed as though, from an onlooker's perspective, Ike was about to be swallowed by the flames. Ike's sword finally struck home, connecting with one of the swordsmen in the hip. He screamed, staring down at the profusely bleeding wound even as his vision blurred and the life drained from his face. He died hearing a similar scream as one of his comrades met a similar fate, the second body falling over the first. The third was more stubborn, remaining strictly defensive, vividly aware of the flames growing on either side of them.

"Your move, Sir Ike," the swordsman mocked, carefully blocking when Ike struck out. He did not press his luck after deflecting Ike's attacking, taking a step back and bringing his longsword up to chest height defensively. One eye swept over their surrounding while the other remained on Ike, desperate to make sure he read Ike's every move in order to buy enough time to drown them both in the flames.

Ike was having none of that, however. The swordsman's first mistake had evidently been his decision to fight Ike in such a manner without realizing how vast the difference in their skill really was. Ike lunged, knocking the sword aside with a sweep of his protected arm, bringing his sword forward to pierce through the swordsman's exposed abdomen. Like the two before him he screamed, though rather than falling over he simply went limp on the end of Ike's sword.

"My move," Ike echoed, pulling his sword back and allowing the body to collapse at his feet. A quick look around confirmed that the camp was now empty. Bodies numbering to at least one thousand lay around, either bleeding from open gashes or bleeding at the bead where they had been knocked over and subsequently crushed by their comrades. Countless others had taken the plunge into the ocean and, Ike guessed, the casualty toll numbered at well over three thousand, a number far larger than what could be expected of an eleven-man mercenary squad.

"We're done here," Soren said, coming to stand beside Ike as he retreated from the burning surroundings. "Ludveck got away, or so Rolf says. And considering there aren't more bodies lying around, it seems he's right."

"Either way," Ike responded, shrugging, "Crimea's army is crippled. Their supplies are toast, and their troops are going to need a serious confidence boost before they dare challenge us again."

"But our situation has not improved," Soren retorted with a frown. He tugged at his robes with one hand while wiping a fresh sheen of sweat from his brow. "We have bought Daein a week at most. Ludveck will have his troops resupplied by then, and with us on the defensive all we can do is sit back and wait it out. We will need something decisive to send him home. If we cannot, we will have to fall back from here. And then Daein suffers."

"Daein suffers," Ike breathed. Once again the thought of Daein, not only his father's homeland but also the country he had torn asunder with brutal force three years ago, suffering even more left a hollow feeling in his chest. "We can't let that happen. We have to put an end to this battle," he paused for a moment to think, "and without destroying Crimea in the process."

"Another battle will be unavoidable," Soren said disdainfully, the concept seeming surprisingly unappealing even to him. "We have enough time to come up with a plan though. Let's go."

* * *

Contrary to Sothe's battle plan, the battle had taken only a few hours. It seemed, Tauroneo mused, that Sothe had made the mistake of forgetting to include the skill of his own soldiers in his planning and instead acted solely on what he knew of simple logistics. In this instance it seemed his planning pulled through and that forgetting this aspect had not affected them negatively, but Sothe would definitely need a briefing to correct that critical problem later.

"We can do it!" one soldier laughed, holding his shield high in the air in a show of triumph. "We can topple Begnion!"

"Are you kidding me?" another laughed, knocking shields with his companion. "We could get revenge against Crimea, too! With the Silver Haired Maiden, we're invincible!"

"Now, now," Tauroneo chided, though he couldn't keep a measure of amusement out of his tone. "Crimea is not our enemy; Begnion is. Do not direct your hatred where it is not warranted."

"Y-yes, General," both stuttered, their glee suddenly derailing and plummeting to a premature demise.

The abrupt silence, save for the delighted cries elsewhere throughout the pass' expanse, granted Tauroneo a moment to observe his surroundings. The moon still suspended itself high in the sky, casting the rocks all around them a brilliant silvery white. The clearing ahead seemed to have a permanent glow to it. Were he not certain that the enemy was camped up along the mountain he could see rising beyond the clearing, he would have immediately suggested making camp in that clearing. The small channel of water that ran along the edge of the clearing and disappeared into the mountains behind them would aid their dry throats, and the flatland was as perfect a camp as there could be hoped for.

Noticing from the corner of his eye that Sothe was approaching, Tauroneo frowned as best he could given the infectious glee the entire army exuded. "We shouldn't be cheering. Not yet." He looked toward the mountains ahead, taunting them, urging them to fight for every step in what was to be a battle far more dangerous than the one Sothe had just guided them through. And for a split second, Tauroneo knew he'd seen the moonlight shimmer off the side of a blade in the distance. "They are waiting for us."

"And we are still outmatched," Sothe finished, though it hardly needed to be said. "Fighting more today would spoil our spirit though, and Micaiah has already made the decision to stop here for the night. At the least, we can defend this position easily."

"That we can," Tauroneo agreed. "What do you think of the terrain?"

Sothe observed the same horizon Tauroneo had taken to studying moments before, realizing with a start that this was an abstract sort of test. He noted the way the flatland began to arc toward the heavens and the way the rocks hanging to the side of the mountains looked ready to fall, all relevant details in his observation. Not one detail escaped his notice, save for the man-made details to be noted, invisible in the thick darkness of night.

Finally, he said, "We will have to coax them into making the first move."

Secretly, Tauroneo smiled. "And?"

Sothe gave the clearing another once over before nodding. "The bridge to the west is a good bottlenecking location. We draw the enemy in on that side and hold them off with our heaviest infantry while the lighter infantry makes use of the unguarded frontline and begin the climb of the mountain from the east. But that..."

"Is a risky tactic? This time, I don't think it can be helped," Tauroneo retorted, chuckling lightly.

"Soren would have been able to do it," Sothe muttered darkly.

"You are not Soren," Tauroneo shot back, his face contorting in exasperation. "You are Sothe. You are still learning. Do not expect of yourself the results of a master tactician."

"But..."

Tauroneo smiled fondly down at Sothe, "I have confidence that you have the makings of a tactician every bit as great as Soren. And Micaiah has the potential of a leader that may very well surpass even Ike." When Sothe's expression remained solemn and otherwise impassive, Tauroneo sighed. "The Greil Mercenaries are heroes, and we owe much to them. But that does not mean they are Gods, Sothe. Stop comparing yourself to Soren, or any of them."

As his mind returned to it's rightful place of normalcy, Sothe almost laughed at the ridiculous direction their conversation had taken. "Regardless, I pray we never see a day when we will have to see who is stronger," Sothe said ruefully, looking distantly toward the stars.

"If it is for Daein, I would not hesitate to fight even Ike," Tauroneo responded with a shrug. "Between my friend's son and my country, we both know where my loyalties lie."

Sothe nodded in solemn understanding, "I have sworn to protect Micaiah," he noted that Tauroneo's face flickered with friendly emotion at that, "and that is enough for me. Running from the Empire, fighting a seemingly hopeless battle – even fighting all of Tellius, if she willed it. I will protect her, no matter what that means."

"You feel strongly for her." That statement, Sothe noticed, lacked anything remotely questioning.

"Hmm," Sothe hummed in detached agreement. "Tomorrow will be no easier than tonight."

Tauroneo stared at Sothe blankly for a moment before saying, "You aren't confident in your plan."

"I'm better suited for spy work. Maybe assassinating – like Volke, perhaps." Sothe groaned and ran a hand through his hair, looking thoughtful for a moment. "Being a tactician is fine – and it is refreshing to feel like I'm pulling my weight – but it isn't something I ever considered doing. Being self-conscious makes sense, I suppose, given that."

"I suppose so," Tauroneo said dejectedly, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully. "But you couldn't be the sort of man Volke is. You have too much heart to do the cold blooded work of an assassin."

Sothe pondered that for a moment before laughing dismally, "Not the things a soldier should be hearing."

"Having heart is fine, so long as it doesn't get in your way when you need to be ruthless."

The silence following convinced Tauroneo of Sothe's resignated agreement. With a nod and several exchanged words of confidence to one another, Tauroneo left to round up the troops that were surely still in the midst of celebration, leaving Sothe to stare out at the clearing before him. After a moment's observation he noticed a slight shimmer, so faint he was certain it had escaped Tauroneo's notice. He took one step forward before taking another, and slowly he made his way toward where he had seen the moonlight-on-metal shimmer, ignoring Micaiah as she caught sight of him leaving and called out to him questioningly.

Progressing further into the grassy flatland, the darkness hiding everything around Sothe seemed to slowly dispel as his vision came into focus. And it was then that he could see what had been so cleverly hidden before: a massive ballistae, stealthily hidden by a black cover. And even better hidden was the soldier seated at it, smirking as he saw the realization in Sothe's eyes. Sothe didn't miss a beat in dropping to the ground, shouting loudly over his shoulder, "Down!" just in time to avoid a massive ballistae bolt soaring over his head, and the sound of it loudly embedding itself in the ground was heard a moment later.

Sothe broke into a crouching dash, stripping a knife from his belt and flinging it at the soldier as he ran. When a startled cry followed he knew he'd hit home, and when his lifted his eyes he saw the soldier falling to the side from his seat, the blood from the knife wound in the side of his neck pouring over the grass. Sothe quickly retrieved his knife before turning around, just in time to find Micaiah running up to him.

"They are attacking," she stated seethingly. Her knuckles were turning white from being clenched so tightly into a fist, Sothe idly noted.

"This must have been their plan," Sothe growled, stomping his foot. "The pass was a distraction, to lure us in just so that they could off us here. Only Begnion could be so uncaring of the lives of their own."

"I didn't see this coming..." Micaiah trailed off, shaking her head. "They are probably going to attack. We need to set up defenses."

Sothe nodded automatically, "My thoughts exactly." And then he ran off to do Micaiah's unsaid bidding.

* * *

The five hundred-man company of cavalry that composed Marado's pitifully small military looked over the mountainside, watching without the least bit of emotion as the Liberation Army easily cut through their standing forces. The Begnion cavalry defending the army's western flank had already advanced, only to be halted by a large man in bulky silver armor who, aided by his knights and a small group of archers, made short work of the company.

Fiona didn't particularly care that her allies were being cut down with such ease, but the speed at which the Liberation Army moved surprised her. They didn't even seem to have any strategy beyond simply luring in their foes bit by bit and taking them out methodically. Even so, Fiona was amazed. Their leader – the silver haired girl whom could be seen amidst her troops, striking down her foes as though she were just another soldier on the battlefield rather than an important commander, seemed especially interesting. It was a shame, Fiona thought sadly, that they were enemies. Were the times different, that girl looked to be the sort Fiona would be honored to serve.

"You, Lady Fiona!" Laverton – the pitiful wretch, Fiona would often add when amongst her own – glared in her direction, pointing down the mountainside, where a winding pathway built into the mountain led toward where the Liberation Army was fording the small channel of water below.

"You want me to join the battle?" Fiona asked, wincing when she heard the disdain in her own voice.

"Would you turn on your allies now?" Laverton asked, smirking predatorially. He knew as well as she what would become of Marado's cavalry were she to do that.

"Of course not," Fiona replied, trying to look as offended as possible at his question. The fact that she secretly didn't find dieing for Daein's revival and Begnion's fall unappealing made that rather difficult. "But the mountainside is unsuitable for cavalry. I would rather I went around and ---"

"--- I care not what befalls your troops. Therefore, you shall do as you have been ordered. Understood?"

Fiona stared hard at him, both willing the other to openly challenge them. Finally she relented, her senses reminding her of the folly in challenging Begnion as she was. "Yes, Sir," she said, before turning to her troops. She heard the galloping of Laverton's black steed as she wordlessly nodded toward the army below. Her troops understood, following her in making an about-face to stare down the mountainside. There were thickets and bushes all over the place, lined with a thin sheen of frost from the chill provided by the altitude. The groups of soldiers guarding the mountainside parted to the side as Marado's cavalry tore down the wide path, drawing their weapons and holding them to the sky, letting out deafening war cries. Fiona didn't join her troops in the before-battle festivities, instead watching the Liberation Army below as they fought to break through the defenses at the channel.

A swordsman dressed in what seemed to be beggar's clothing – at least, the ratty style and the splotches of dirt all over them suggested so – was leading the pack of soldiers that had already crossed the channel, flourishing two swords with a level of skill that surprised Fiona. He seemed to dance gracefully as he fought, swords going from foe to foe one after the other. Any who he either got caught up with or only left wounded were finished off by those trailing behind him. Fiona's grip on her lance tightened involuntarily, and she felt the primal soldier within her itching for what was sure to be a good fight. Lifting a hand to urge her soldiers to a halt, she rode forward alone, catching the man's eyes immediately. He looked to be little more than a child for all the innocence in his features, which Fiona was disgusted to admit did make her a little reluctant to fight him. She quickly recalled the unchild-like way that he had been fighting seconds ago and steeled herself.

"I am the Stewardess of Marado, Fiona," she greeted, bringing her lance up and pointing it at the man. "I challenge you to a duel. Do you accept?"

"I am Edward, member of the Dawn Brigade," he replied, the grin on his face turning into a determined stare in the blink of an eye. "I accept your challenge!" Fiona hardly had time to react as Edward rushed at her, bringing the sword in his left hand toward her horse while the sword in his right clashed with her lance, holding it still. Fiona quickly brought her horse back before the swipe caught it, all the while studying the way Edward moved. After the first swing, there had been an obvious opening where his guard was dropped. As he came in for a second round, she swerved away from his first slash and hooked her lance under his arm before he could begin the second slash. He looked shocked for a moment, but he shrugged it off and leaped back, apparently ignoring the large gash the sudden movement left on the underside of his upper arm. Fiona couldn't help but notice how he winced every time he moved that arm afterwards.

"Not bad," Edward's voice had a cheerful tone to it, and it was clear that he was enjoying himself, as any truly talented fighter should. Despite that Fiona could already hear the weariness in his voice, even if his actions suggested otherwise, seemingly unimpeded save for that wince when his left arm moved. "Why is someone of Daein fighting against us, though?"

"I will not follow the rumors of Prince Pelleas, nor will I be disillusioned by the miracles of the Silver Haired Maiden. I fight for the safety of my state of Marado." Before Edward could say anything more she took the offensive, knocking his right sword aside with the butt of her lance, twirling it to point at his throat. "And letting emotions get in your way during battle is fatal. Farewell, Edward of the Dawn Brigade."

"My Lady!" one of her soldiers suddenly cried, forcing her to wince at the worry in his tone. "Look above!"

Despite knowing what it would mean to leave her foe to his own devices, Fiona pulled back and looked upward. Along the mountain's edge, soldiers were lined up holding their swords or axes to the throats of villagers – probably villagers of Marado, Fiona thought with disgust. Laverton was at their head, looking down at the Liberation Army – though Fiona felt his eyes upon her for the briefest of seconds – and scowling.

"Drop your weapons, now, all of you!" he shouted suddenly, his voice echoing along the ripples of the mountainside. Fiona had no doubt in her mind that he could be heard as far back as the pass. "You don't, and I will be forced to kill the prisoners!"

* * *

"Everyone, drop your weapons."

Micaiah had said that without the least bit of worry in her voice. Almost as though, dare he say it, she had been expecting this to happen. Which was possible, given who she was. But that didn't stop Edward from feeling resentful as he took a few steps away from that girl with the dark auburn hair and the piercing blue eyes, dropping both swords to the ground reluctantly. "Well?" he scowled at her, raising his hands in defeat. "Won't you do the deed, traitor of Daein?"

"What did you call me?" Fiona asked, glaring down at him contemptuously. He didn't care one bit for her feelings at the moment.

"You heard me," Edward spat, tilting his head to nod at his swords lying on the ground. "Your precious empire has resorted to such inhumane tactics. So, why not follow his example?" He ran his thumb along his throat, imitating the motion of a sword beheading him. "Kill me."

"You wound insult my honor?" Fiona asked. Edward could see the hand gripping the reins of her steed tighten it's grip, and the veins running up her arm were visible from the strain. Her face looked absolutely murderous, and for a split second Edward wondered if he'd done the wrong thing in assuming the worst of someone of Daein working with Begnion. What if she simply wanted to protect her people? Edward could sympathize with that, at least.

Making an assumption such as that, though, was worse than assuming the worst of her, the latter of which at least warranted consideration given the fact that she was his enemy. "I never thought you to have honor, Lady Fiona. Begnion has none, of course."

"And you presumed the same of me?"

"Should I have done otherwise, given the situation?"

Fiona looked away immediately, seeming almost ashamed to be likened to those of Begnion. "No, you were right to think so." In that instant, her demeanor seemed to change entirely. The bold and level-headed woman Edward had been fighting gave way to little more than a frightened child, looking as though she'd just been scolded for a wrongdoing of some sort. "I cannot condone Begnion's atrocities any longer."

"What was that?" Edward raised an eyebrow, gaping and crossing his arms over his chest. He either looked very dignified given his position, or downright amusing, and Fiona couldn't seem to be able to tell which.

"I will fight for the Occupation Army no longer. Edward of the Dawn Brigade, forgive my rudeness by allowing me to aid you in your battle." With that she brought her horse to an about-face, raising her lance into the air. "We can no longer side with the atrocities of Begnion! We of the honorable state of Marado cannot forgive such injustice!" Her troops cheered in approval and tore off up the mountainside, lacking any semblance of formation whatsoever as they charged throughout the meager defenses Laverton had seen fit to place on that flank. They were helpless, launched off of the mountain or struck dead brutally before they could react to the sudden hasty charge of Marado's cavalry.

Swords, axes and lances glistened in the moonlight as the knights of Marado dared to hope against hope. Their movements were spastic, moving with such sudden jerks that it seemed as though they were all spasming. As more and more cries filled the air, Begnion's soldiers falling like dominoes and Marado's cavalry falling nearly as readily in the desperate battle for the summit that neither truly particularly cared about. Fiona quickly swept in between two swordsmen, killing one and striking the other in the face with her foot before grabbing a small child off the ground and forcing him into her lap, tightening her thighs around his legs. "Are you okay?" she asked indifferently, focused as she was on getting around the troops now desperately trying to stop her knights from retrieving the children and other civilians, to no avail.

"I... I'm fine," the boy responded quietly, shakily. "You are Lady Fiona, aren't you?"

"I am," Fiona replied evenly. The boy shook slightly as she brought her arm up, clashing lances with a bold soldier. She struck her leg out, the steel plating lightly coating the toes slamming forcefully into his chest. As he staggered back she struck her lance forward, impaling him through the chest. The boy uttered a soft cry and shook more violently, small tears falling upon Fiona's breast. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I will get you to the Silver Haired Maiden, where you will be safe. Alright?"

"What about mama?" the boy asked, his eyes wide with frighteningly inquisitive curiosity.

Fiona chanced a glance over her shoulder to her entourage of knights. One of them in particular had a woman behind him, her arms wrapped around his torso tightly. Her eyes were wide with fear, and Fiona could see her glancing over toward her every few seconds. "Your mama is fine, child. You will both be safe soon."

"My friends?" he then asked.

"Child," Fiona said sternly, not looking at him, "I will not allow my people to die. Your friends included. Alright?"

The boy beamed, suddenly all smiles at Fiona's promise. "Thank you, Lady Fiona!"

* * *

"Is this what you were waiting for, Micaiah?" Sothe asked, directing his attention to the fleeing cavalry, carrying the civilians that had previously been hostage.

"Yes," Micaiah responded, her muscles tightening suddenly. "Grab your weapons! We move to aid them!" she cried. As the soldiers all around them suddenly took up their weapons again, a deafening war cry resonated through the air. As one the mass of black-clad soldiers rushed forward, splashing through the small water channel in their enthusiasm. The urge to strike a blow to Begnion was overwhelming even to Micaiah, and she couldn't begin to fathom the extent of her soldiers' hatred for their oppressors.

When Micaiah noticed her every movement being followed by Sothe's over-protective shadow, she frowned without looking back, "Go help Tauroneo and his knights advance from the other side." When she saw the shadow of his head do no more than tilt to the side in a questioning gesture, she explained, "Those knights can't put up a fight while protecting the civilians, and we are outnumbered. If you can take out their commander, we can try to convince them to surrender."

From the corner of her eye, Micaiah could see Sothe looking moderately insulted at her blatantly obvious attempt to rid herself of the unnecessary protection, though his face swiftly fixed itself with a neutral stare, evidently aware that she was watching him. "I got it, Micaiah. Be careful."

"I will."

Reluctantly, Sothe took his leave of Micaiah, who immediately breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Perhaps if she got him acquainted to this now, it would be easier for him to be willing to do things that involved leaving her side later. The army would suffer otherwise, naturally.

"My Lady," a swordsman next to her was frowning, pointing toward the summit. Looking up, Micaiah saw Fiona locked in a furiously violent duel with who seemed to be the enemy commander. Both their horses were moving around one another, stalking eachother, while their riders clashed lances over and over again. Initially it seemed to be a relatively even match, but that was before Micaiah became dreadfully aware of how Fiona's assaults were soft and that one of her arms was wrapped around the child in her lap, protecting him. Surely she was unable to fight at her full strength while caring for that child.

Micaiah gasped loudly as Fiona was forced to abandon her horse, flipping off of it backwards and giving it a soft smack to the side, urging it to run. She pulled the boy to hide behind her, bringing her lance up to protect herself as her foe advanced.

In the blink of an eye, however, Fiona was safe. Micaiah's eyes widened as she watched Edward slip in between them, swing his swords in rapid succession and swiftly throwing the commander from his horse. Where had Edward learned to fight with a ferocity like that?

* * *

"You," Edward growled, his voice low and frighteningly dangerous, "need to die."

"And just who are you?" Laverton asked, pulling himself to his feet with a bitter cackle. "One of the Maiden's curs?"

"I am Edward, of the Dawn Brigade and Prince Pelleas' Liberation Army." Edward swung with a speed that surprised even himself when Laverton tried to thrust his lance forward, throwing the offended polearm off course effortlessly. "Using innocent people..."

"It is human nature to make use of the weak!" Laverton protested with a laugh, undaunted by the rage in Edward's eyes. "And they are the weak. They should be honored to be used by us."

"That's disgusting," Edward spat.

"Daein did it to Crimea, three years ago! Would have done a good bit of damage to Begnion too, given the chance, I am sure." When Edward was unable to retort Laverton laughed, bringing his lance to attention once more, eyes narrowing viciously. "You so called heroes are hopeful rebels, trying to revive a kingdom guilty of more crimes than I can count on my own two hands! And your precious Maiden is a dictator in the making! A facade of false niceties, working her way into your Prince's good graces. And when all is said and done, he will be a figurehead to her ideals. She will hold your precious kingdom between her fingertips, and bend it to her will."

"Micaiah is not like that!" Edward cried, swinging his swords outward frantically. One lucky slash connected at the tip with Laverton's cheek, who hissed quietly as blood rolled down the side of his face. "But you, Begnion's occupational dogs, are the tyrants! You say you are caring for the land you have won, but you strip anybody remotely proud to be from Daein of their rights! Our soldiers are in prisons!"

"You are the servants of Mad King Ashnard, after all," Laverton shrugged dismissively. "It should not be any other way."

"I should have expected the likes of you to be so judgmental," Edward spat. From there, no more words were spoken. The two clashed violently, limbs moving all over the place in fevered attempts to stop the other and strike a successful blow. Edward brought the sword in his left up just in time to shrug off Laverton's lance, though the effort was enough to send him reeling, his shoulder jarred painfully from the blow and his limbs quivering with unrelenting exhaustion. His vision blurred several times in his effort to remain conscious, driven only by his determination to kill his foe and his subsequent desire to protect Fiona. He wasn't completely sure which had led him to intervene in the first place.

Then, with a speed that surprised even himself, Edward ducked beneath a thrust of Laverton's lance and lunged. While his head connected painfully with Laverton's face, his swords both dug themselves into his chest. Blood sprayed in massive spurts from the opening wounds, drenching both men in the sticky fluid. Edward felt absolutely revolted as he felt what might as well have been a stream of Laverton's blood run down the side of his face, but when he pulled away and saw Laverton's already lifeless corpse, any revulsion was replaced with immense satisfaction.

Nolan was standing beside him seconds later, smirking as he observed Edward's handiwork, "May that be a message to them, eh?"

"Mmm."

* * *

_She was overlooking a valley of some sort. A ravine or chasm, perhaps? Really, it hardly mattered. The soldiers around her were of Daein, lance-bearing soldiers and swordsmen and mages and archers, numbering in thousands more than what she would ever have thought possible of Daein's remnant military. It was then Micaiah realized that surely this time, the vision playing before her was not of the near future. Rather, it seemed to be of the distant future. A grim future, dare she say. One that she wouldn't have wanted to wish upon anyone, even Begnion._

_The mountainside leading down to the ravine-chasm frightened her beyond words. It was glistening brown, like shining mud. It was rolling down the mountainside at a steady pace, leaving trace amounts of the thick substance in it's wake. It took her only a minute to realize it was oil. But why would someone try to set fire to the mountainside when the Daein army was above it? That made absolutely no sense._

_That was when she noticed the massive army lying helplessly below. They numbered at least ten times as many as her own, bearing flags of Begnion, Crimea and their respective Holy Guards. They numbered at least fifty thousand. Micaiah, not herself but rather her vision of herself, didn't seem daunted by the massive army. In fact, she seemed to be condescending of them. Not arrogantly so, but she certainly wasn't afraid of them. And she didn't seem threatened by the pegasus knights they had, whom were actually capable of assailing the Daein army._

_Suddenly Micaiah cried out, "Fire!" as she waved her arm to the side. Fireballs and flaming arrows struck the oil-covered mountainside, following the oil trail all the way to the bottom where it struck the waiting enemy. Hard. The screams of burning men, trapped and unable to escape and forced to watch their inevitable death advance on them, made Micaiah wince in disdain. She chanced a glance toward Sothe standing beside her; he looked equally, if not even more disgusted as he watched. That only made her feel worse._

_Micaiah brought her hand up in preparation to issue another order, but the words never left her mouth as Sothe was suddenly torn from the ground, and in the blink of an eye was being suspended over the blazing mountainside by what seemed to be a member of the bird tribe of Laguz. His wings were broad, their span likely longer than his body was, and his already narrowed eyes were filled with a rage so unspeakable that it had Micaiah frozen in fear. All she could do was helplessly cry, "Sothe!" as she watched him try in vain to escape the Laguz's grasp._

"_T-Tibarn..." Sothe gasped out desperately._

_Tibarn ignored him, keeping his eyes set on Micaiah. "You make another move, and he gets a lesson in flying." For emphasis he dropped Sothe, ignoring Micaiah's cry of distress as he swooped down, catching Sothe by the throat and returning to his previous altitude. _

"_Hey, Ike!" he called suddenly. "Looks like those bastards were a decoy after all."_

_Micaiah seemed ready to ask why he was calling out to Ike, but didn't get the chance to as the mercenary strode past her, peering over the cliffside at the damage below. "Awful," he muttered, seeming surprisingly unconcerned. "Ranulf and Titania already have this area surrounded. These guys aren't going anywhere."_

"_Good," Tibarn replied through gritted teeth, involuntarily tightening his grip around Sothe's throat. Sothe clawed helplessly at the claw around his throat, gasping desperately for air all the while. His skin was paleing. "This is disgusting."_

_Micaiah invaded their disturbingly casual conversation suddenly, crying desperately, "Tell him to let Sothe go!"_

_Ike spun around to face her suddenly, freezing her in place with his eyes alone. Micaiah herself could feel the nervousness radiating from her envisioned self, and all she could do was pray that the nervous feeling came from fear and was not born of yet undetermined factors, as her every sense was indicating it to be. Ike looked over his shoulder at the burning mountainside before replying in a dangerously low tone, "Absolutely not."_

"_W-why?" Micaiah found herself asking, as though she didn't already know the answer._

"_You didn't seem to care about their lives," Ike replied, tossing his head back. "Why should I care about his?"_

_Micaiah shrank away, the nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach intensified by that fierce look Ike was giving her. Micaiah again prayed to all known goddesses that the sudden knee-weakening sensation was out of fear. "B-but..."_

"_I'm offering you a choice," Ike growled, ignoring her feeble attempts at disuading him from killing Sothe. "Return to Daein, and keep your lives. Or, you can stay here and die. After seeing this, I really don't care if Tibarn drops Sothe into your mess."_

"_We can't," Micaiah replied, suddenly firm. "Think us insane if you will, but our only option is to fight."_

"_Ike," Tibarn laughed, waving the arm holding Sothe as though he were a toy for his amusement, "looks like you and Elincia have an ally in insanity."_

"_Hmph," Ike scoffed, thoroughly annoyed._

"_Ike, it seems to be a lost cause." A frail looking man, perhaps a year or two younger than Ike, pushed his way forward, surrounded by a small entourage of beast Laguz, strands of raven black hair flying every which way as he walked. "They are determined to die. Drop him, Tibarn."_

"_Stop!" All eyes suddenly flew to the ravine, where a circle of pegasus knights were rising, the Apostle seated behind the rider in the center. "Please, Ike... No more. No more fighting..."_

_Ike sighed, palming his face and shaking his head. "Fine, we'll retreat." He sent a warning glare Micaiah's way and, as he passed her by, said, "I suggest you do the same. I don't know how long I can hold my men back."_

"_But I...!"_

"_Fine," Ike shrugged. He waved a hand over his head, "Drop him, Tibarn."_

* * *

Odd way to end the chapter, I know. But this is important for my plan to repair the mess that was Part 4, so bear with me. This sort of ending will only happen every now and then, so don't expect it to be a consistant thing.

On another note, this chapter was far longer than I anticipated: forty-three pages, and over twenty-five thousand words long. Longer than a small children's book... huh. Hopefully they won't drag on this long too often, but in my defense there was a lot to pack into this chapter.


	8. A Gathering Hope

Getting through Part One has been faster than I anticipated it being, to be honest – please, no jokes against the erratic rate at which I've been updating. From here there are just two chapters left (Chapter 8 in the game, and then Chapter 9 and Endgame combined into a single chapter) that will tie up Part One of the game and hopefully make it merge with Part Two so that this fic doesn't follow the example of the game, with Parts One and Two feeling almost independant of Three and Four. Elements of Part One will go into Part Two, most notably the Greil Mercenaries' trials serving as the premise for them being in hiding until the end of Part Two (and if I recall, a talk between Ike and Elincia in-game will create a tad bit of continuity here... well, whatever), but Daein will not be completely inactive during Part Two either. Don't expect as much from them in Part Two as the Greil Mercenaries got in this Part, but they will not fade into non-existance until their partcipation in the Laguz-Begnion war of Part Three. Particularly, parts of Part One and Part Four will find themselves out of place and within the Part Two timeline, as the blank mark in Daein's story gives me the opportunity to give a certain subject due focus. What part, you may or may not – probably the latter – be asking? Well, I've hinted at it, so you figure it out. It's a rather unique curveball if I do say so myself, however, so it may not be as obvious as I'm thinking it is. I'm throwing another underhand hint this chapter too, though; see if you can find it.

I'm glad to know, by the way, that my history buffing knowledge of strategy was satisfactory; so, as always, many thanks are due to Totalitarian for being my unnofficial beta/critic/amazing-reviewer – and maybe actually having a beta rather than doing all the work myself may have prevented the rather amusing typo you noted. I'd been all over myself thinking that my knowledge of strategy and battle tactics wasn't enough, primarily because not only is my knowledge of strategy limited to history buffing and several readings of The Art of War but also cuts itself off around the seventeenth century when warfare abandoned the days of skilled tactics ruling the day and moved into the age of blowing eachother's brains out. If you've noticed, I put a strong emphasis on things like lay of the land and elevation, which is more or less a testament to my readings of The Art of War. I'll probably have to give that another reading through, maybe reading Cao Cao's commentary on the side, to make sure that I don't lose my touch.

Also, I left the conclusion of the last chapter (the chapter itself, not the vision afterward) open-ended on purpose, though I'll concede to the fact that it could have been left a little less ambiguous than it was. I wish I could say I had a better excuse than simply noting my distaste for the necessity of dragging on a rather pointless conflict (unless you got really nitpicky and said I could have pulled a repeat of chapter 5 and done a series of scenes surrounding various characters, which I really don't want to do again), but that's the basic reason, in all honesty. It gets a small wrap-up in the opening narration for conclusion purposes, but that's enough as far as I'm concerned. And preferable to dragging the chapter on for another ultimately pointless three pages.

On the note of overly long scenes that dragged on, I'm glad I'm not the only one noticing the difficulty in doing battles with the Greil Mercenaries and staving off the necessity to make it seem 300-ish, which apparently was not lost in translation in the last chapter. It might just be me, but the nature of Path of Radiance and Radiant Dawn relatively demanded more large scale fighting rather than small groups. I would dispute this point to the end if I could, but Radiant Dawn confirmed my suspicion that the conflict was much more large scale than most other Fire Emblems (the only one that matches it in scale off the top of my head is Seisen no Keifu, though even that's debatable). As such I've felt a need to make the fights relative in size to that (my decision in that centers mostly around the battle at Castle Nox, where Janaff notes Daein having an army of 10,000 and making it seem like it is a small army). Thankfully, this issue doesn't last a whole lot longer.

.... I realize this section has been getting to be obscenely long at times. I really should start replying to reviews rather than answering them here... we'll see.

_The Liberation Army rides the waves of momentum, expelling Begnion from Terin and many of it's northern strongholds. This decisive victory in Terin, Begnion's retreat from northern Daein and the subsequent conquering of the Marado Labor Camp shows a vast changing of the tides of battle. Numerically, the Liberation Army continues to grow with each passing day, drawing in eager recruits wherever they can be found. However, the majority of their forces are elderly or young men, people with passion that leaves them wanting for skill. Meanwhile, Begnion continues to bolster it's forces with munitions and mercenaries purchased with funds stolent from the Daein populace, forcing the acceleration of the Liberation Army's rise._

_Where it can be done safely, Begnion comits a terrible act. In a last ditch effort to impede the strengthening of the Liberation Army's forces they begin putting to death the prisoners held within the labor camps. These acts of terror range from overworking to intensified malnutrition, seemingly innocent acts that slowly drains the will and spirit of the men eagerly awaiting their rescue. In it's darkest hour, Daein's remnants find themselves looking for the bright light that is the Silver Haired Maiden._

_In Crimea, word of Duke Ludveck's devastating loss reaches all corners of the country. Faith in Crimea's strength begins to waver, and riots begin to break out where loyalty is at it's lowest. Elincia calls in aid from former wartime allies to watch over her lands, but the sheer ferocity of the riots leave even the finest of her dissolved Liberation Army in dire straits. This leaves Elincia in a dire position. Threatened both from the inside and outside, she must decide which is truly the foe..._

* * *

The week-long unspoken armstice between the Greil Mercenaries and Crimea had hardly been put to good use, Soren noted wryly that morning. Going through a checklist of their supplies and rations, he was dismayed to find that their small dispatches to the nearby Daein-Begnion villages to do odd jobs – in disguise and anonymously, of course – had brought in far less income than he had hoped for. Just yesterday Boyd had returned from lending his aid in the construction of a new town hall in some nameless village along the borderline of Daein and Crimea, bringing for all his tolls only five thousand gold and a wagon full of various foods that were in the midst of becoming accessible, with farming taking a prominent role in everyday life once more. And the day before that Ike had returned from a small mission that had led him into the mountains north of Daein, where he had slain a brigand network that had been harrassing settlements along that front indiscriminately. It was a job worthy of enough pay to appease the mercenaries for at least a month, but instead Ike had brought back only ten thousand.

It seemed then, Soren thought sadly, that the only reason they were in high spirits was because they had returned to their mercenary roots again.

It didn't help that they were sorely shorthanded, even though their small numbers had never been of any particular import in the past. Soren had unceremoniously assumed to role of organizer, dividing duties left, right and center. Three were always on lookout for Crimean soldiers – usually Rolf or Shinon was amongst this group, due to their more keen eyesight – and two searching for Begnion soldiers coming at them from behind. The rest had been coming back and forth from their small makeshift camp all week, taking jobs wherever they were presented in a pitiful effort to keep their funds from hitting rock bottom. Which wouldn't have been a problem were it not for the fact that Ike's honor and misplaced kindness would not allow him to deprive his allies of their payment. Which, while rather low, did not help their situation.

Soren himself had many duties as well. Oscar had been brought into Ike's special graces, sent on daily excursions to find more supplies with which to make the wonderous meals he made, leaving a gaping hole that Soren had been forced to fill. Just two days ago he had been forced to return to bed by Shinon after he tried to carry a massive pile of firewood into the camp and nearly broke his leg in doing so, forced to take half a day to rest then. He had done physical activities that he had long decided were beyond his capacity, and acclimating to them had been unexpectedly swift.

But that didn't stop him from thanking Ike – for Soren had no Goddesses to thank; they had forsaken him long ago – that morning when the role he had to fill was simply keeping watch. It was boring, and there hadn't been a single sighting all week, but at least his muscles didn't feel as though they were tearing themselves apart with the slightest movement. Sitting in a tree with his back resting against the trunk of a tree, eyes scanning over the horizon every couple minutes was greatly preferable to agonizing work that usually only Ike or Boyd could do.

"Anything?" Ike asked from below, looking rather strange with his eyes gazing upward, one watching the bright blue sky and the other staring directly at Soren. His arms were crossed over his chest and his fingers were tapping impatiently to a miscellaneous rhythm, his sword not ten feet way, propped against the tree's trunk.

"Nothing," Soren answered dryly, as he had the past six times Ike had asked. Ike had been blessed – or cursed, recent events taken into account – with having no work to do, leaving him supervising just about everything else while Soren played birdwatch. Much of this time had unfortunately been spent in worry of a Crimean attack, as with the expiration of a week it was entirely possible that they had been resupplied and were preparing to march at that very moment, asking Soren every time he had come around if anything had been spotted. Apparently, the thought of Soren actually alerting him if he saw anything didn't occur to Ike.

"It's strange," Ike muttered, clearly aware but obviously uncaring of Soren's annoyance – Soren loathed to admit that their relationship allowed him to get away with such irritating familiarity. "Ludveck must have known we are waiting things out, and by now he must have been able to resupply enough to manage. So why..."

"Trouble in court, I imagine," Soren cut him off before Ike's ranting could lead him into a vicious bout of friendly fire. "Queen Elincia is probably fighting against his policies every step of the way."

"What makes you think that?" Ike asked, as dreadfully clueless of the political side of logic as always.

"When we were fleeing, they dispatched only the Royal Knights. Had Ludveck had any absolute control, we would have been staring down their troops as we are now, back then." Soren averted his eyes from Ike's expressionlessly clueless face, grunting in annoyance. "Now let me do my job," he snapped, "or we will all die."

"We would have noticed a massive army crossing the bridge before we had swords at our throats," Ike retorted unnecessarily.

"Would we have noticed a pegasus flying at us from the sky?" Soren asked suddenly, pointing to the sky where, sure enough, a pegasus could be seen soaring toward them on the horizon. The rider didn't appear to be armed, but Ike immediately grabbed his sword regardless. If nothing else, he couldn't go and let this knight think she could fly into their camp without warning and be welcomed with open arms. Hell, not even his allies during the war got that sort of familiarity, he thought nostalgically as he recalled several occasions where his sword had been pointed at Tanith's throat simply for arriving via pegasus completely unannounced.

The pegasus was moving far faster than Ike had ever seen one move. If she were actually an enemy she wouldn't have been pushing her pegasus so hard, Ike decided, lowering his sword. Soren seemed taken aback by her speed as well, hasitly moving to Ike's side as she tilted into a rapid descent, landing right in front of them mere seconds later. The pegasus lowered itself as it's rider dismounted, pulling her helmet off to reveal long brown locks framing a face of barely more than twenty years, with shimmering blue eyes. Features that, had Ike been familiar with any form of attraction whatsoever, he was sure probably would have caught him off guard. "Sir Ike?" she asked breathlessly.

"Another request to surrender from the Duke?" Soren asked, narrowing his eyes. Then, in a more subdued voice that was barely audible, he muttered, "Will we have to send a head back for them to give up?"

Neither Ike nor the knight seemed entirely sure whether he was serious or not.

"I bear no message from the _Duke_," the knight replied regardless, spitting out the title venemously. "I come because I am questioning him."

Soren's distrust didn't waver, but Ike was relieved to find he didn't look murderous anymore. "Explain."

"Several of my companions were flogged for wondering whether or not you guys were actually guilty of treason," she sighed wistfully, fists clenching at her sides. "I would like to hear your side."

"Your name," Soren demanded blandly.

"Hmm?"

"We will not explain ourselves to a stranger," Soren explained, with infinitely wavering patience.

"Marisa," the knight replied then, smiling grimly. "I am a member of Lady Marcia's pegasus knights that came over from Begnion."

"I thought Marcia was with the Royal Knights," Ike stated, raising an eyebrow.

"She is. Lady Marcia serves beneath Sir Geoffrey, but at the same time she is the Commander of Crimea's pegasus knights," Marisa explained.

"Well," Soren cut in, eye twitching with annoyance, "that is hardly relevant. Is it not?"

"I suppose," Marisa agreed, though she didn't look entirely pleased saying so, Ike noticed. But when neither Ike nor Soren made any move to comply with her request, she looked far more exasperated, "So?"

"Duke Ludveck is preparing to rebel," Ike answered bluntly, sticking his sword into the soft soil beneath him and crossing his arms over his chest. "He tried to convince us to return to court; Soren," he pointed to Soren, "thinks he intended to use our power to give him additional influence, as well as use us in his plans. We turned his men down, and they attacked."

"And they made it look like you instigated it," Marisa said, completing the tale. "That makes sense," she then added, frowning. "When he found out our supplies had been run through, he didn't bat an eye. Hasn't even bothered to resupply yet."

"He hasn't?" Ike asked, frowning.

"No. In fact, we've hardly seen the Duke. He has been coming and going constantly, leaving that Lieutenant in his place."

Soren looked thoughtful for a moment, considering the weight and value of those words on the scale in his mind. Finally he said, "What is your rank?"

"I am a Squad Captain," Marisa responded with a raised eyebrow, wondering. "But the Duke has assumed absolute control. The actual authority of any individual leaders in the army is practically nulled."

"So your absence wouldn't be noticed," Ike said, catching on to what Soren was getting at. "Go to Melior, and tell Elincia what we told you."

"Defeating your enemy without a weapon," Marisa sighed, glancing at Soren. "You are as cunning as they say."

"Mmm," Soren hummed in acknowledgment, indifferently save for a small tint of bashfulness that only Ike managed to catch on to. One of those seldom seen emotions that only the sole person who had access to the frigid tactician's heart could see. "Ike is right, though."

"And what of you guys?"

Soren's expression darkened then, "Though we have done nothing warranting military response from Crimea, we cannot return. We will return when we can."

Ike nodded, "We're counting on you."

* * *

"Raise your shield a couple inches. ...Good. Swing your lance like so."

Sothe raised an eyebrow as he watched the practise field that morning, watching the more recent additions to their army undergoing an unorthodox training session with Aran. Nolan wasn't far off in a duel with one of the army's axe-wielding soldiers, and Edward was, unsurprisingly, swept up in a fierce battle with Fiona. Even Ilyana was getting in some training that morning, practising with a new tome Sothe had given her, found in the basement of the Marado Labor Camp. Aran was parrying blow for blow with two soldiers, his bored expression betrayed by the excitement evident in his eyes, a rare display of real emotion.

Laura was standing next to Sothe, watching her friend as he spun around a thrusting lance and brought his up to rest just before the soldier's chest. "He hasn't looked so happy in a long time," she sighed, smiling widely.

"I imagine anyone would look happy doing what they love," Sothe replied evenly.

"He doesn't love fighting," Laura responded, looking insulted. "He loves all of this. He hasn't really had anyone to connect with, so this level of connection makes him happy."

"Hmm."

"Are you not happy?" Laura asked, turning to face Sothe. When he raised an eyebrow, she said, "You don't look happy."

"I don't need to be happy," Sothe replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Everyone needs to be happy," Laura protested with a wistful sigh. "What makes you happy?"

"Protecting Micaiah," Sothe replied without hesitation, though he avoided Laura's searching eyes.

"So why are you not happy?" she asked, tilting her head to the side inquisitively.

"I..." Sothe seriously considered that for a moment, before offering a wry smile and shrugging. "I don't need to be happy," he repeated. "So I'm not."

"You're not what?" Micaiah asked as she approached, raising an eyebrow. Her eyes shifted to Laura and she smiled, saying, "Hello, Laura."

Before Laura could return the greeting and potentially go into an explanation that would surely leave him flustered, he said, "We were watching the troops train. With the addition of the prisoners from Marado and Marado's knights, we have a serious shot at taking out Begnion."

The raised left brow on Micaiah's face rose slightly, but she didn't bother to question the reason behind the clearly sympathetic look Laura was giving him. "That's why I'm here," she said, crossing her arms. "War meeting time. I've had just about as much as everyone of Marado's mountainous weather, and I would really like to be on the move again."

"Hmm," Sothe hummed again, with a detached sort of disinterest. "Izuka probably has some crazy plan again, right?"

"It's probably his job to," Micaiah retorted dryly.

"Walk slowly, then," Sothe said as he began walking, making sure Micaiah kept the slow pace he was moving at. "I'll need a second to get into the retorting mood."

"Retorting mood?"

"Be a strategist, think like a strategist," Sothe explained with a wave of the hand. "I can't very well do that while training – I need time to adapt."

"Ah." Though it went unsaid, Sothe could tell through a simply glance that him being a thorough thinker was still something Micaiah was trying to adapt to, as well. It hadn't occurred to him at the time that the Dawn Brigade's honorary co-leader being a skilled tactician was anything to bat an eye over, but looking back on it, he couldn't help but wince at the irony. He had been the one doing much of the group's thinking when on the run, but that had simply been decision making and analyzing. The jump from analysist to tactician, then, was certainly something to bat an eye over, if only amongst their own group. Much like Micaiah's jump from group leader to Vice-General, sear the brazen fool that let her accept that appointment. And sear the voiceless bodyguard that gave into her whim just as readily.

As they walked into the large tent both had become frightfully familiar with in recent days, both were immediately aware of the absence of Prince Pelleas among the group of assembled people. Izuka was in his place at the head of the table, and added to the assembly to rebolster their ranks were Fiona, Nolan and Edward, all looking flustered and panting from their training. Sothe vaguely wondered how they had all gotten there before he and Micaiah when he had been watching them fight not long ago, but chose not to dwell on unnecessary details. His mind instead occupied itself with the more pressing detail of Pelleas' absence and the smug look on Izuka's face, the latter probably a byproduct of the former.

"Gather, you two!" Izuka snapped irritably, contradicting his otherwise rather indifferent disposition. "I must display for all to see, my latest grand strategy!"

Sothe obeyed with great reluctance, narrowing his eyes as he stopped beside Tauroneo, "And where is Prince Pelleas?"

"I am the General Staff Officer of this army!" Izuka replied, apparently under the impression that those words alone sufficed as an explanation.

"And?" Sothe growled, raising an eyebrow.

"And?!" Izuka exclaimed, fists visible and clenching tightly in a vain effort to suppress his obvious anger. "I am your superior! As such, you may consider my words the words of the Prince himself!"

Sothe scoffed, pointing a finger threateningly in Izuka's direction, "I should have known better than to ---"

"--- Sothe," Micaiah interrupted, knocking elbows with him in a silent plead of silence, "that is enough. Carry on, Izuka."

"Y-yes," Izuka replied warily, taken aback by the patient look Micaiah sent him. "Now then, our next target shall be Umono." He pointed with a long, unmanicured and very dirty fingernail to a small building drawn into the map, with a small lake next to it and a road passing through it to other areas far off. It was isolated and far from Nevassa, surrounded by what appeared to be a lush forest and naturally defensible locales. By all accounts, Micaiah thought, it was a wise choice.

"That is one of the largest work camps," Micaiah said unnecessarily. Simply the fact that it had it's own place on the map confirmed that detail.

"It is also one of the most harsh ones," Tauroneo explained with a particularly bitter scowl. "Among all of their attrocities, Begnion's attrocities at Umono are among the greatest. Daein citizens from nearby villages are enslaved to do the grunt work, and slacking of the most remote sort is punishable by death." His entire body shook with rage and he slammed a fist onto the table, shocking everyone with his rare show of negative emotion. "Bolstering our forces be damned, it is our duty as Daein's heroes to attack Umono."

Sothe stared wide eyed at Tauroneo in the wake of his outburst. He stuttered helplessly, "Tauroneo..."

"Leave it," Tauroneo sighed, dismissing the subject. "What is the plan, Izuka?"

"Naturally, I have accounted for the fact that attacking the prison with our forces as they are is foolhardy. Thus, I have come up with a plan so brilliant it will deliver us a tremendous victory!" He laughed triumphantly for several long moments, unnoticing or simply uncaring of the looks he received from most everyone. Calming down, he explained, pointing to the small lake next to the prison, "You see this lake? This lake feeds water to everyone at Umono. We shall dump a toxin of my own design into the water, let those fools feast upon my brilliance, and watch as they slowly die! We will need not a blade nor a mind! We need only sit and bask in the coming of my finest victory!"

"Absolutely not!" Micaiah cried before she could help herself, unable to put a rein on the exasperated rage that formed in but an instant, pressing at her core with all of it's strength and forcing it's way through. "How could you consider such a plan?! Poison is inexcusably and unforgivably vile and I, for one, will never agree to such a heartless plan."

Izuka and Micaiah stared hard at eachother, willing the other to lose their cool and back down, like two very stubborn bulls fighting over prey, horns knocking against the other's dangerously. The tent fell into a tense silence while all watched the growing intensity of the contest taking place between the lanky and frail looking tactician and his foe, the confident looking and very fierce general of their humble army. Nobody dared making a sound, fearing that the bolts of lightning that marked the fierce gazes between the two would suddenly shift direction, tearing into the unfortunate speaker and turning him or her into a sudden and immediate victim of unrestrained rage.

"That plan," Izuka growled, "was formed in a state of the most focused and exalted meditation. I will not have you insult my brilliant planning!"

"That doesn't matter," Micaiah shot back hotly. "Evil though they may be, us using such terrible means to defeat Begnion is inexcusable. We must fight with compassion and consideration for the innocent, else we are no better than they."

Sothe nodded quickly in agreement, eager to escape the deathmatch taking place in the center of the tent and return to a less life-threatening subject of discussion, casually ignoring the fact that the new line of discussion had been the catalyst of that very deathmatch. "Micaiah is right," he said softly, although his eyes bore into Izuka's for a brief moment as he spoke. "Poison will not discriminate. Not only will the prisoners suffer within, but nearby villages will as well. And then they will lose faith and trust in us, perhaps even side against us. After all, most would prefer oppression to suffering from poisoning, no question. Not to mention that, when all is said and done, it is Prince Pelleas that takes the fall for our decisions."

Izuka made a loud snorting noise, crossed somewhere between a scoff, a sniffle and a huff. He glared openly at Micaiah, as though trying to destroy her utterly with but a look. And to those who knew the man, it wouldn't be unreasonable to consider such a thing. "Fine! Do as you like! But know that you will crawl on your hands and knees back to me when you find yourselves utterly defeated!"

"My apologies," Tauroneo sighed, shaking his head in the direction of Izuka's retreating form, hunched at somewhat dejected. "Lord Izuka is... quite excitable."

"So long as that 'excitable' nature of his doesn't give us a repeat of Gritnea," Sothe replied smoothly, glaring down at the table almost subconsciously.

"Sothe, stop it," Micaiah said. Ignoring his indignant pout she turned toward Tauroneo, smiling sheepishly, "I should be sorry. Because of me, he..."

"You were in the right," Tauroneo quickly stated, waving a hand. "I'd not condone the use of poison either. I believe that we can all agree upon."

"However," Nolan interjected mournfully, directing his gaze to Sothe as he spoke, "we will need to devise a new battle plan." He crossed his arms over his chest and looked to everyone; first Jill and Fiona, both of whom shook their heads. Edward lifted a single eyebrow when Nolan's eyes fell upon him, as though to say, "Are you serious?" Nolan glanced at Tauroneo meaningfully for a long second before skipping over to Sothe once again. "Sothe?"

"Hmm," Sothe grunted distractedly in acknowledgment, his eyes drifting anywhere but to Nolan as he spoke. "Breaking into the prison full force is inviting disaster."

"That's right," Tauroneo immediately put in. "I... served at Umono for several months, back before the war when it was a small standing defense against possible invasion from Begnion. The hallways are narrow and the rooms small; Umono is not suitable for large scale conflicts, and trying to use such force would only increase our own casualties."

"You never told me about this," Jill said.

"It doesn't matter at the moment," Micaiah quickly interrupted, not missing the thankful look Tauroneo sent her in secret. "If that is the case, the main army will attack head on while the Dawn Brigade infiltrates the prison level and frees the prisoners."

"I will lead the troops outside," Tauroneo quickly added, "with Zihark and Jill."

"I will go with Lady Micaiah," Fiona said, inclining her head slightly respectfully. "Marado's knights are loyal only to me, but I will leave them to you, Sir Tauroneo."

"Are they proficient with ranged weaponry?" Tauroneo asked.

"No," Fiona shook her head mournfully. "But they are skilled in sublety. Leave them to watch your back, and you won't have a single man with a sword in his back, I assure you."

"Certainly a comforting promise," Nolan laughed.

The flap pulled over the tent's opening suddenly flew aside, revealing the mid-afternoon sky and the sun still pumping light across the land. A couple soldiers rushed in, unarmed and out of breath. They seemed to quickly realize the former, paling when they saw Nolan standing at the table, smirking. Surely he had noticed this blunder, and there was an unspoken promise of their punishment for it later. They quickly averted their eyes and turned to Micaiah, saluting and stuttering, "T-the Prince wants to see you, Vice-General."

"The Prince?" Sothe asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," one of the soldiers deadpanned. "He requests the immediate presence of the Silver Haired Maiden."

"Thank you," Micaiah replied gratefully, smiling. "I will go at once."

"Oh," the other soldier quickly added, turning to Nolan, shivering almost instinctively as he did so. "Sir Leonardo requests Sir Nolan and Sir Edward's presence as well, on the practice field."

* * *

"Could there have been an accident maybe? Or maybe he wants help training? Or maybe..."

Nolan tuned out the rest as he walked, escorted by one of the two soldiers, now armed with a sword at his side and a lance in hand. Edward hadn't kept his mouth shut for longer than five seconds since they left, asking Nolan just about everything he could come up with, related to the problem at hand or not. First it had been wondering whether or not Leonardo was in trouble, then it was wondering why Nolan never wanted to spar with him, then it was asking why Nolan was always so 'official', as he had put it... And now, it had come full circle and he was going off about increasingly perilous scenarios with Leonardo as the victim. Were he not so 'official', Nolan was sure he would have made Edward the victim of one of those perilous tragedies.

"Nolan! Edward!" Leonardo was standing across from them with two archers flanking him, waving in invitation and most certainly not fatally injured. Nolan rushed to his side with measured steps, watching from the corner of his eye Edward following, grumbling something morosely under his breath, put off by being proved wrong despite how dire the case would have been otherwise.

"Leonardo," Nolan greeted dismally, waving a hand toward the side, silently dismissing their guards. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Leonardo assured him, brushing aside a strand of exceptionally blond hair, illuminated by the warm sun upon his head. He turned on his heel suddenly, picking up his bow and stringing an arrow. He let it fly toward a distant target, watching it wobble in the wind before striking into the center. "The wind is strong today," he noted, "so training has been a little rough." He strung a second arrow and fired it slightly to the left of his first shot, pointing as the arrow was blown slightly off course and struck the center again. "See?"

"And this is your problem?" Nolan asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"No, no," Leonardo laughed, stringing a third arrow. "This bow," he said, eyes not leaving the distant target covered with his arrows, "is my problem." He fired, watching again as it hit it's mark without fail.

"It seems to work just fine," Edward noted, poking at the bowstring. "It's a little big."

"It's a longbow," Leonardo replied, pulling experimentally on the bowstring several times. "It's made to fire the bow over longer distances, but it feels a little too bulky." He stood to the side and held it out to Nolan with a smile. "So, you try it."

"Me?" Nolan asked, accepting the bow anyway.

Leonardo nodded, holding an arrow out for Nolan to take. "It is simple to use, and it's extra range makes aiming easier. I want you to have a feel for it; tell me what you think."

Nolan hummed a small acknowledgment as he carefully took aim, running his fingers carefully along the bowstring. "I've only held a bow a couple times," he finally said, "and they were never this big."

"That's the problem," Leonardo said, tapping the wooden limb of the bow. "Being composite, it's far heavier than it should be. It throws off your aim."

"You had no problem with it," Nolan noted distractedly, adjusting the trajectory of his shot, shutting one eye. "Are those bones at the ends?"

"I said it was composite," Leonardo sighed. He came around to Nolan's right side, putting his hands over Nolan's and directing the arrow's trajectory until he was satisfied. "Now shoot."

Nolan did so, watching as the arrow sailed straight toward the planned target hanging from a branch, only to dip low at the last second and barely hit the target. "And you want me to practice to find a solution?"

"I'll give you some archery lessons if it will help."

"That may help," Nolan sighed, lowering the bow. "That bow is way too heavy."

"You're physically stronger than I am," Leonardo went on, as though he hadn't heard Nolan at all. "My hope is that with proper training your strength can overcome the bulky weight."

"Your student becoming your teacher," Nolan laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "When did I sink so low?"

"If you train properly, you can use that bow on the battlefield." Leonardo poked at the limb again as Nolan went to take aim, adjusting the trajectory just before it fired. The arrow arched upward as it did before, and when the descent began it brought the arrow downward upon the center of the target. "That is worth the work, right?"

"Of course," Nolan replied confidently, ignoring his body's every protest to the idea, particularly in his arm where the bowstring was already leaving stinging cuts in it's wake. "Now show me how to properly aim this thing."

* * *

Pelleas' personal tent was every bit as regal as Micaiah could have expected, and then some. The interior kept the same dark and dreary feel that seemed to surround Pelleas' very existance, a shroud of mystery that was open for all to observe at their leisure. A Daein coat of arms hung over his makeshift bed, and it was replicated on all four posts of the bed. The bed itself was smaller than a bed in a run-down inn, and the matress was torn in several places. It seemed like a nuisance to move about, and Micaiah suspected the only reason they had it was due to Almedha's adamant refusal to allow her dear son to live in any but the finest conditions available. And this, questionable though it's regality was, happened to be the best they had.

Pelleas was seated in a wooden chair in front of a chest-high desk, working by candlelight with a quill, writing what appeared to be a letter of some kind. His brows were knitted together and he was chewing on the side of his lower lip, pausing in place every few seconds before returning to writing. Micaiah watched in silence for a few minutes, slowly making her way to the bed and softly sitting on it. When the old matress strained loudly beneath her Pelleas finally looked up, glancing in Micaiah's direction. As soon as he saw her his demeanor changed completely and he hastened to turn around to face her, blowing out the candle and allowing the warm light from outside to spill in and illuminate the dark tent.

The look in Pelleas' eyes – the pitiful, "I want you to forgive me," look – almost made Micaiah's annoyance subside, but her determination to be angry at him for delegating his duties to his madman assistant overcame her desire to be polite. His usual frown was deeper than usual, and the way the light illuminated his pale skin brought out a whole new dimension to his pitiful look.

"Thank you for coming," Pelleas said tentatively, wincing as soon as the words left his mouth. Although as far as Micaiah was concerned, he was the only one who found his words to be anything to gawk over. Really, when did a respectful greeting become a threatening insult? She must have missed the notice.

"Would you like some tea? Or maybe you wouldn't. I am already taking enough of your time as it is, and I wouldn't want to... But if you want me to, I could..." He was rambling, and Micaiah could tell. She could see the sweat glistening on his opening and closing palms, the way he rubbed his hands against his robes when he thought she had her eyes elsewhere, the nervous energy all but pouring from that pitifully desperate look on his face. She almost felt bad then. Almost.

But the first lesson in becoming who she had been forced to become was a simple one: Indifference. Even when she'd like it to be otherwise, she couldn't show emotion that wasn't deserving of the situation. And pity for the pitious Prince? Unnecessary. Dismay for his plight, for his desperation? Necessary, but certainly not applicable with the present situation. No, the situation demanded her indifference. Her detached and uncaring responses. The strictly professional nature she'd had bred within her. Born of Daein's plight, perhaps, but that was of little importance.

So because indifference was necessary, she shrugged. That only deepened the frown on Pelleas' face, but it wass her job to not care. "None of that will be necessary," she said, careful to avoid anything actually insulting. That was the difficulty with the first lesson; the necessity to differentiate between indifference and anything actually insulting. "Why did you delegate everything to Izuka, Prince Pelleas?"

"I ---"

Micaiah didn't offer him the chance to explain himself, continuing as though she hadn't heard him, "He is making decisions without your consent, under the guise of his words being your's. My Prince, please, you need to stand for yourself."

Pelleas looked away, mumbling half-heartedly and dejectedly, "It was Izuka's request that I not attend."

A single glance at Micaiah assured him that this answer did not please her in the slightest. She stood suddenly and stomped her foot, seething. "You are our leader, Your Highness! You cannot allow your subordinates to walk all over you! Moreover, you cannot simply pass your duties as leader onto another!"

"I don't know how to do any of this!" Pelleas protested. "I was making what I believed to be a decision beneficial to us."

"Neither do I!" Micaiah shot back. "I am a nobody, plucked off the streets and forced into this situation. But I can only look forward and do the best I can, and trust those around me to help." Her expression softened and she relaxed, sitting down slowly. "You have people who can help you grow accustomed to all this, Your Highness. But if you leave everything to Izuka, what will become of the throne? When you are restored, you will know not how to rule. You will be dependant on Izuka and a slave to his will; a prisoner of the crown. A figurehead to his wants, and innevitably those of everyone else. Daein would not be restored then, only given a beacon with which to guide them. There would be no order in the court, much less anywhere else."

"... I am sorry, Micaiah," Pelleas sighed, hanging his head. "I shall ask Izuka before the next meeting. I need his permission to attend."

"You don't," Micaiah said, her voice raising slightly. "You are the Prince, Your Highness. He is a servant, an advisor at best."

"Yes, but ---"

"Also," Micaiah went on, "I am sure you have heard what some people have said of his past."

"Izuka has assured me they are only rumors, Micaiah."

"He has lied to you, Your Highness." Micaiah reached forward with a hand and clamped tightly yet comfortingly upon Pelleas' shoulder, "Sothe knows this. He fought in the Mad King's War, and he saw the horrors of Izuka's work. I understand the necessity to believe in him, and I have tried to do so as well, but I ask that you not trust him so greatly. I sense ill tidings in doing so."

"I would like to believe your words, Micaiah, but I..." he paused, eyebrows coming together tightly in thought, "... I owe much to Izuka. He took me off the streets and reunited me with my mother. His widespread power and influence gathered me the strength I had before I met you. I count my blessings to have gained the strength you have offered me, Micaiah, but I would not even be a Prince were it not for him."

"I see."

Pelleas gaped for a brief moment before stuttering quietly, "You do?"

"You were alone," Micaiah explained, her grip on his shoulder softening before leaving entirely. "I understand."

"You do?" Pelleas repeated.

"Izuka gave you everything. He took your life on the streets and took away your loneliness." She took several steps toward the tent's opening, carefully keeping her eyes off of Pelleas. "You feel like you owe him, right? You do as he asks because he gave all of this to you."

Micaiah's mood immediately soured when all she met with was silence. She couldn't feel his eyes on her back and she couldn't see the way his mouth opened and closed uncertainly, or the way his entire body was shaking both from fear and excitement, growing more spastic with each second. She could feel only the tense air around them, speaking volumes of the many lines she had crossed in her foolishness. If only she hadn't allowed her emotions to get the better of her...

"Micaiah, you..." She heard Pelleas' voice quietly, quivering and she was certain he had meant to point out her transgression, right? Surely Izuka had told him of proper conduct between Prince and subordinate, after all.

"That was inappropriate," Micaiah said, willing herself to not look at the surely annoyed, surely critical face of her Prince. "I am sorry, Your Highness."

"Micaiah," Pelleas said again, softly, voice low and shaky, "you're amazing."

"... Amazing?" Micaiah asked, turning to face the clearly starstruck Prince skeptically.

"You read me perfectly; I can hide nothing from you!" Suddenly he was all smiles, ecstatic at this seemingly random revelation. "I knew I could trust such feelings with you, Micaiah."

"Hmm," Micaiah half-heartedly grunted, praying in some desperate way that this reliance upon her would not become a burden later. She didn't fancy the idea of hindering His Highness as Izuka seemed to.

The tension in the air seemed to grow ever thicker then. Pelleas looked rather embarrassed for having lost his cool for a moment, and while Micaiah agreed that seeing him so relaxed was preferable to the dire mess he'd been of late, the vision of him looking not unlike a child engraved in her mind bothered her immensely. And his nervous laughing, accompanied by a sheepish scratch to the back of the head every few seconds, didn't help that problem at all.

"I'm sorry, Micaiah. That was foolish of me." Pelleas sighed heavily and timidly ran his hands along the length of his robe, flattening the creases and ripples in the fabric. "My hands are sweating, too... A more pitiful man there is not, I fear."

"That is not true, Your Highness," Micaiah threw in a smile for good measure, but the lack of any response from Pelleas told her that the smile looked as forced to him as it felt to her. "It is as you have said; we are both in situations unlike what we are used to. It is perfectly natural to be unable to be wholly professional in our roles, right?"

"I suppose you are correct, Micaiah..." He turned toward the desk he had been sitting at, pulling one of the papers from it's rough surface and scanning it with his eyes. He held it toward Micaiah, saying, "This is the other reason I called you."

Micaiah took the paper suspiciously, turning it around in her hand so that she could properly read the beatifully written script. "Did you write this?" she asked, looking away from the paper to catch his eyes with her own.

"I did not create it, though I did document it. That writing is my own." He ignored her eyes as they uncertainly went from the paper to his eyes over and over again, pointing to the paper and urging gently, "Read."

Micaiah frowned as she obeyed, reading aloud, "'From the hand of Staff Officer Izuka's loyal informant, Geiss, with information pertaining to the movement of Western Crimea and her rebel mercenaries, the Greil Mercenaries, enemies to the recovering nation of Daein.' ... Must I read this? I mean you no insult, Your Highness, but I care not of their affairs or even if the rumors concerning them being in this country are true."

"Nor do I," Pelleas laughed, shaking his head. "This has nothing to do with them. But we must be aware that the threat to our land is there."

Micaiah sighed, though she did not disobey the silent order to continue reading. Once more, she read aloud, "'The Duke of the large region of Felirae in Western Crimea, Ludveck von Felirae, launched a decisive campaign in the name of securing and asserting Crimea's strength as a nation, leading her forces toward the border, where they suspected their treasonous mercenaries to be awaiting them. Over the past week the Greil Mercenaries and the Crimean army have engaged in two battles over Oribes Bridge, both of which ended with Crimea's troops wanting for morale and, in the case of the latter engagement, wanting for supplies. In the days following the mercenaries have fortified their position, protecting the villages along the border from the Crimean army, whom it is suspected would resort to pillaging and raiding if it suited their ends.'"

"Quite the story, is it not?" Pelleas sighed, taking the paper back and placing it on his desk. He took a few steps back and collapsed onto his bed, suspending himself by placing his hands flat upon the bed behind him. "Have you any information you can tell me of the mercenaries?"

"Only what Sothe has granted to me, Your Highness."

"Would you tell me?" Pelleas asked.

Micaiah paced from side to side, grasping the side of her head with her hand, feeling the bitter stinging sensation of an impending headache. "They were the heroes of the Mad King's War ---"

"--- That is common knowledge. Which is why I wish to know more of them," Pelleas stated, sighing. "I wish to know why they would defend the country they themselves brought to kneel."

"They are mercenaries," Micaiah suggested with a shrug. "Perhaps they are being paid to do so?"

"Izuka's agents are many, and nothing escapes their notice. If such a deal had been made, it would have been included in the report. Incidentally, they have been contracted by both a Begnion sage and a shadowy pilgrim, both of whom we have no information on, in order to protect the Daein poppulace from Begnion." Pelleas fell back as he brought a hand up to run through his hair. He frowned as he pulled on a single strand, thinking aloud, "But this does not explain marching to our defense at Oribes. So, I ask, what reason would they have to act of their own volition...?"

Those curious words were lost upon Micaiah, her eyes trained upon the bit of pale skin revealed by the sleeve of Pelleas' robe riding up his arm ever so slightly. A pitch black mark, with swirls of red and gray, is embeded in his skin there, glaring angrilly at any bold enough to hold their gaze. Such was it's strength that all previous thoughts of possibly chivalrous or outright righteous mercenaries, both thoughts contrary to her regular beliefs of them, were sent from her mind with an angry flick of the wrist. Micaiah felt a cold chill run up her spine just staring at it, as though something malevolent were returning her gaze. The same chill she felt when...

"... Micaiah? Why are you looking at me like that?" Pelleas intruded upon her thoughts suddenly, waving a hand in front of her face, concern taking form in his brows knitting together.

"That mark..." She pointed toward his wrist, eyes still glued to the spot even as he fumbled around, hastilly moving to cover the mark.

"It's nothing," he quickly said, stuttering over every syllable that left his mouth. "Mother assured me it was a sign of my lineage. Nothing more."

"But..."

"It is nothing to dwell upon, Micaiah."

Micaiah felt she should have disagreed that point to the end, but she restrained herself. Nodding mutely she took her leave, muttering a formal farewell quietly and leaving Pelleas to sigh sadly in her wake.

"She has the same mark, so why... why should I hide it?"

* * *

Mercenary work, rebel work. Really, what was the difference? Both had their values in the scheme of his goals, and neither were particularly bothersome... Definitely meritable pursuits.

This was what Tormod – or Little One – had told him a fortnight past, when the decision had been made to take a brief break from their unofficial spy work for Empress Sanaki and aid the Daein Liberation Army. Muarim had been restless with worry since, and had on several occasions tried – unsuccessfully – to persuade Little One otherwise. But he would not be swayed, confident that the high command in the army would receive Laguz, considering the fact that they had one amongst them. The fact remained that this one was seldom noticed in an army of several thousands, but Little One had waved it off, suddenly throwing in the argument that he wasn't an enthusiastic Laguz rights negotiator for nothing.

Bah. Little One could be careless when he got ideas of grandeur stuck in his head. Wise beyond his years he may be, but he still had that childish enthusiasm about him.

"So!" Tormod suddenly declared, pointing sharply toward the distant, hulking castle of Umono. It's walls were stained with blood even on the outside, clearly visible even from a distance. Muarim grunted with distaste as the putrid scent travelled up his far more aware nostrils, filling him with a familiar dull bloodlust that was not foreign to any Laguz of the Beast Tribes. The smell of corpses high up – probably in the sentry posts, Muarim noted – accompanied the putrid smell of lingering blood, drowning out the pleasant scent of soil and foliage that otherwise would have surrounded him.

"So?" Vika echoed skeptically, floating over Tormod and landing in front of him, arms crossed over her chest. "What do you mean, 'so'?"

Tormod turned to Muarim, ignoring Vika's bemused outburst, "You think Sothe and his group are in there, Muarim?"

Muarim trained his senses upon those within the castle's desolate walls – why he needed to was beyond him, since Little One had plenty fine senses of his own and a great sense of intuition as well – and focused. He could definitely tell there was something going on, and two days' worth of observation told him this sort of action was out of the ordinary. He nodded, saying, "Most likely, Little One."

"Perfect!" Tormod cheered, digging into a small bag slung at his side and pulling out a few tomes. He slung the straps of the small bag over a branch hanging overhead, nodding in satisfaction when it seemed to camoflouge with the leaves strung around it. "It would be a shame if we came all this way and found he wasn't here."

"There are still prisoners here in need of help," Muarim replied, shrugging.

"That's right," Vika chimed, frowning. "You would have had us rushing to our deaths anyway."

Tormod laughed nervously, idly running a finger along the spine of one of his tomes, the other taking residence in the large pocket lining the inside of his fiery colored robe. "It's the right thing to do," he said simply, looking away as Vika smirked and Muarim chuckled softly.

"Little One will always be Little One," Muarim laughed, his face looking particularly odd, rough looking in every way save for an unconditional smile stretching his lips. "Shall we go?"

"Yeah!" Vika added, spreading her wings and giving them a couple flaps. Muarim could hear the muscles in her chest stretching comfortably as she flapped her wings, having previously grown tense with inaction. "If we twiddle our thumbs much longer," she sighed, "It won't matter if they really are here or not! They will all be dead!"

"No," Tormod waved a hand dismissively. "Sothe is far too difficult to kill. That guy just won't go down."

"He has a strong will," Muarim agreed.

"That's right," Tormod nodded. "That little guy would not die so quickly." Suddenly he turned toward the brief expanse of forest between them and the distant castle, placing one foot forward. "Keep up, you two!" He exclaimed, just before dashing forward with paces far too long and swift to be human, carrying him across the land nearly as fast as either Laguz could move in their morphed states.

Vika gaped silently while Muarim smiled fondly at his Little One's retreating form, saying, "I taught him well," quietly before shrinking down to all fours, his body covering with the oddly green fur of his morphed state, face contorting into the fearsome visage of a tiger. As he broke into a run as well, he vaguely noticed Vika's wings growing significantly as she too changed form. Battle cries – or oddly unique squak, in the case of the mercenary-esque raven behind him – roared from them both with a triumph not to be denied, eager for the animalistic fulfillment of a worthy kill that as to come.

* * *

Umono hadn't been a locale of particular interest to Sothe in the past. This may have come from the fact that it was a castle out of the general sphere of Begnion's influence in Daein and thus yielded little in the way of useful intel. Or maybe it was because it had become a massive prison for over three thousand Daein soldiers, one so fearsome that just about anyone proud – or unlucky – enough to be of Daein nationality cringed in fear of just it's name. It was a testament to Begnion's cruelty like no other, and it was now being invaded by those whom feared it most. There was no denying the raw fear welling up inside them at that moment.

He regretted his previous decision not to investigate it in the past. Not knowing anything beyond simply where the prison cells were – the basement, as could have been expected – was a burden on their mission he'd rather have a method of solving. As it stood, their plans were limited by that fact alone. How could they fight on foreign terrain with the tide turned against them? From a tactical perspective, it was all but hopeless.

But tactics weren't the only weapon they had. Micaiah stood next to him, confident as she'd ever been and ready for the daunting challenge before them. It was only a prison, after all. They had raided prisons before. Granted those prisons hard hardly been fortified the way this one had, but they had also been lacking the tremendous strength they now had backing them. Tauroneo would be keeping almost all of Begnion's strength directed at him. All they had to do was get in, replenish their numbers by drawing from the hopeful spirits of the imprisoned allies within, and get back out. It would be a boon if they could successfully occupy Umono, but that was not top priority.

No, top priority were their comrades. Everything hinged on their success in getting the prisoners to safety. Sothe commited to memory everything he saw; every nook, every cranny, just in case it might be required of him to have that small piece of information later. The halls of the secret passageway that, according to Tauroneo, would lead them straight to the prison level were dark and cold, seemingly devoid of anything except the eternally blazing torches that lined the walls on both sides. It had been simple enough to find once they had been directed to it, and Sothe had been fearing for some time now that Begnion would make use of the passageway to flank them. That would be a worst case scenario indeed.

On the plus side of the situation, it seemed there were no alternate pathways that could lead to this one. So long as they watched their backs, it would be no real trouble for them to ward off the danger of being attacked from behind. Their treck into the desolate prison seemed to be a singular route, with no route but the one through which they had traversed to worry over. And even then the worry about enemy reinforcements was minimal, given the fact that Tauroneo had many of them held at bay with a fierce assault on the castle head on. Certainly not the brightest ideas and quite possibly suicidal if the engagement were to be drawn out, but it had a certain usefulness. Namely, a usefulness in it's ability to keep the Dawn Brigade from meeting an untimely end in the dark gallows of Umono.

The trudging of footsteps across the stone tiling beneath them and the frequent puddles seemed to be the only breaches in a very tense silence. None dared to speak, for fear of losing their fragile calm. Ilyana was nearby reading one of her tomes, looking far too busy to look convincing. Behind her Nolan was admiring a relatively large bow almost lovingly – and was that a quiver on his back? Leonardo was beside him silently pointing out small things and then pointing to a book in his hands, presumably two related topics that were being discussed in complete silence. But the most disturbing event was in Edward's case. He was holding both of his swords in his hands, swinging them around occasionally, imitating fancy maneuvers and coming within a hair's breadth of actually hitting anyone. Adding insult to injury was Fiona standing beside the swordsman – Sothe took care in noting how close the two had quickly come to be, in case it became a relevant factor later – inspecting her lance and similarly swinging it about, presumably testing her ability to use it dismounted as she was. Sothe was actually beginning to fear that a miscalculated case of accidental backstabbing may be their undoing, rather than any tactical miscalculation on his part.

When they finally escaped the dreadfully long tunnel, complete with it's winding twists and steep slopes, they were left breathing almost raggedly. The prison level was bare for all to see, illuminated with tens upon tens of torches at varying points of elevation throughout the room. A flight of stairs not far ahead led to the cells themselves and the lower level was swarming with guards at rigid attention, watching for the slightest change. Sothe idly noted that they must have been very well drilled to have been able to maintain such focus when they were defending a place such as this. Their faces were grim, their red armor shimmering in the flickers of firey light and the shadows it cast. They looked ready to kill.

"I'll take Ilyana and Volug and toward the cells in the east," Sothe said after a quick assessment of their surroundings. They were crouched low in the shadows, hidden still from sight and waiting for the opportune moment to strike. Timing would be everything, Sothe knew as he watched the guards for any sign of a lapse in their focus. A changing in the guards on duty? A tiny sound elsewhere that would draw their attention away? Anything? "You take everyone else and head for the cells straight ahead."

"Be careful," Micaiah whispered in return. "And watch the entranceways in that area. I sense danger approaching, and quickly."

"Danger?"

"Not necessarily an enemy, but danger."

Sothe nodded, "I'll keep an eye out."

He returned his focus to the guards, watching for any sign. Something... and then one of them turned to walk away, murmuring something to those near him as he retreated. Three others soon followed suit. "Now," he hissed, taking off in a dash along the shadow, hearing the soft footsteps of Ilyana trailing behind moments later, followed by the sound of Volug's paws padding along the ground behind him. They were hidden from view until the last moment, watching the knight blocking their path intently. He was as focused as the rest of them, eyes scanning from side to side every few seconds. By the time he had noticed them, however, it was far too late. Sothe lunged out from the shadow and attacked, kicking aside the thrust of a lance with his foot before pressing his knife into the knight's throat. He staggered back and panted, offering the opening Volug needed to assault and finish him off, swiping at his gaping throat with two paws.

Behind him, he heard similar chaos breaking out. Cries of agony filled the air as Micaiah's surprise attack worked it's wonders. He could almost see her tearing someone apart with her scorching hot and blindingly bright magic, Aran decapitating someone with a skillful swipe of his lance or Nolan... lodging an arrow into someone's face. The latter still took him by surprise, but he dismissed the thought for the time being. If nothing else, Nolan's diversity would be a boon. Provided he was skilled with the bow and it didn't become a potentially fatal liability, of course.

Two swordsmen rushed them suddenly, appearing from around a corner with a flourish that took Sothe by surprise. He uttered a startled cry as he threw his knives up to block at the last possible second. The other had been tackled aside by Volug, fighting a desperate battle against the wolf from the ground. Volug snarled into his face just before tearing into the man's throat, killing him instantly. Sothe winced in near-sympathy when he saw the blood dripping from Volug's fangs, but he wasn't able to give it any more than that before he felt an elbow against his chest and he was being shoved back, forced onto the defensive as swing after swing came his way.

"Sothe!" Ilyana cried softly, almost worriedly. A moment later a large, heated bolt of lightning struck the swordsman, singeing his skin and forcing an agonized cry from the depths of his throat. Sothe followed up on that by pushing him aside with a swift kick from the right, simultaneously throwing a small dagger that stuck into his forehead, draining what remained of the life within him. Sothe panted slightly as he wiped small droplets of blood from his face while Volug and Ilyana rushed to his side, bothing catching their own breaths.

"Such... strength..." Sothe gasped, gazing frightfully at the swordsman laying dead at his feet. His nerves prickled as that simple gaze reminded him of the sheer desperation in his movements while he fought, the way he had to depend on everything he had just to avoid becoming a victim of that viciously powerful swordsman. "What has happened here? These are no ordinary soldiers..."

"They are... strong," Ilyana panted weakly. Her grip on the tome in her right hand was painfully tight, and her other hand's grip on her chest was just as tight. "I'm tired..."

"We will get a long rest when we are finished." Sothe straightened himself out, realizing belatedly that his sudden composure was compromised by his still heavy breathing, but he ignored the sharp feeling in his raw throat. His position demanded such composure and showing weakness, no matter what the reason, was unbecoming of a man in his position. "But these guys are very strong. If I didn't know better, I'd say they had been trained by the Black Knight himsel ---"

"--- This is ridiculous! You would almost think the Black Knight trained these guys!" A deep yet somehow childish voice interrupted him, followed by the distinctive sound of cackling flames and burning flesh. Sothe whipped around to face forward where Tormod was pressed against a wall, ducking and weaving around sword swings while trying to gain enough time to summon the focus required to retaliate. A black bird circled overhead before diving down at her prey, pecking at the swordsman's eyes. Tormod summersaulted away from his foe and spun around, firing a large fireball at his foe that immediately turned him into a smoldering pile of ash.

"Tormod?!" Sothe cried, rushing to his side as swiftly as he could, dodging around small puddles and rubble as he went. He belatedly noticed a soldier had been coming at his backside with an axe, only to be tossed aside and rended by Volug and his fearsome combination of claws and fangs. His focus was on Tormod, bent down and talking to the green tiger Sothe could recognize anywhere.

Slowly Tormod looked up, grinning and throwing a thumbs up in Sothe's direction, "Hey, Sothe. We thought you could use the help, so here we..." He paused, running his eyes across Sothe a second time before staring open mouthed at what he had expected to still be the small child he had once dwarfed. "You grew!"

"Y-yeah...?" Sothe responded uncertainly, raising an eyebrow.

"You're too tall!" Tormod cried, pointing a finger accusingly at Sothe, and then himself. "Where did the little Sothe from the Mad King's War go?"

"He... grew?"

"Traitor!"

"... Traitor?" Sothe asked skeptically.

"I come here of my own good will, looking to aid a comrade-in-arms! A fellow _short_ comrade-in-arms! You betrayed me!"

"I see." Sothe rubbed the bridge of his nose with one hand, flipping a knife up and down in the other. "In any case, if you're here looking to help, I could use the manpower. We are severely shorthanded as it is."

"No problem there, Sothe!" Tormod chirped with a grin, running his fingers along the spine of the fire tome in his hand fondly. Overhead Vika let out a squak that sounded almost suspiciously like a snort, warped in her inability to make such a sound in her transformed state. "We have other friends watching our back elsewhere as well, so you can rest assured that this fight is all us."

"Ike?" Sothe asked.

"But of course. The stubborn idiot is at Oribes, fighting off an army of thirty thousand." Tormod ignored the way Sothe gaped in astonishment and surprise, snorting in disbelief of the tale he was telling, "If I didn't know Ike could handle dozens and not break a sweat, and many more should he be wielding Ragnell, I'd say the guy has a deathwish. As it turns out, he's kept them off Daein soil for a week though. He's got guts."

"Hmm," Sothe grunted, turning around. "If we are done reminicing, I would love the help taking out these stubborn idiots. Too strong and willful for their own good."

"You're telling me," Tormod muttered under his breath. "Well, whatever. If it's added muscle you need, I'd be glad to lend a hand. Lead the way!"

* * *

"The nerve of that wench! Did she not know whom she was speaking to?!" Yeardley exclaimed bitterly, throwing his arms into the air in exasperation. "'By the order of Her Majesty Elincia Rydell Crimea, Duke Felirae and Crimea's forces are to withdraw from the frontlines forthwith. If this order is not being carried out within a fortnight it will be considered an act of treason, by which Sir Ludveck von Felirae will be arrested and judged accordingly'... Bah! Her Majesty's Royal Knights have grown more bold of late."

Ludveck strode a pace in front of him, shrugging nonchalantly while he oversaw the process of packing away their belongings for the long trip home to Melior that was to be started upon by the sun's setting. "Geoffrey grows all the more bold now that he thinks he has the upper hand on us, indeed."

"Should we not put him in his place? Letting him run so freely is," Yeardley coughed, rubbing idly at his shoulder, "dangerous, among other things, is it not?"

"Not particularly so," Ludveck replied. He tilted his head back to look at Yeardley with a smile as feral as one with a naturally aristocratic appearance such as he could manage. "The Royal Knights have their uses as the bold dogs of Queen Elincia's court, after all. They will become her backbone, and we will be all the more free to run because of it."

"More and more of the court are growing suspicious of you," Yeardley noted with a scowl. "If we do not make ourselves more trustworthy, we will lose our position amongst the aristocracy, and the entirety of the plan shall suffer from that."

Again Ludveck shrugged, content with looking entirely uncaring of what, to Yeardley, was a situation of the most dire importance. Or did he no longer care for the plan? "A setback and nothing more. At this time, we cannot expect to hold all the cards; we would be but daft fools to hope for that. But we can hold the more useful cards. And that, when all comes to pass, will be the deciding factor."

"And that is what the Greil Mercenaries are? A useful card?"

"As fate would have it, they are the Queen's card." Dismay was evident Ludveck's expression then, a true sense of uncertainty pervading all certainty that defined the imposing Ludveck von Felirae. He quickly covered it up. "But no matter. The Queen may try to make use of them, but they are her enemies as much as they are our own. Neither side can use them, it would seem."

"Making them a pest; wasps we need only swat at and tell to leave us be."

Ludveck laughed uproarously, throwing his head back and letting the booming sound of his voice echo through the air. "If only it were so simple!" he laughed, shaking his head. "They, I fear, are more thorns than pests. Persistent thorns that refuse to be plucked, at that."

"By the time the knaives decide to come for us, it will be all too late," Yeardley added gleefully.

"So long as we act soon," Ludveck concluded. "Using Daein's strife should suffice. With Crimea's eye on their former enemy, they will spare not a glance for their own. Then we strike at the heart at reap what is our right."

"And depose of that wretched excuse of a sovereign that had the throne handed to her by birth."

"Well, while the throne does need one worthy of it's power, with decisive swiftness and a ruthless hand," Ludveck ran a hand through his hair, "I'll not judge our Queen on this account. She is improving, if nothing else, to be able to go against my decision like this."

"She will only grow more independant later. But she will never deserve the throne."

Ludveck nodded. "It is as you say, friend."

"And when all is said and done, we shall have power incarnate." Yeardley crossed his arms over his chest and rubbed his hands up and down his forearms, desperately warming the cold flesh, victimized as it was by the brisk early morning air. It didn't help that they had been suffering from an inexplicable spell of rainfall since late the night before, giving the air the additional coldness of lingering rain and it's unmistakable scent in the air. "You shall be King and I shall be your right hand, so long as you remember our promise."

The look that Ludveck gave his subordinate was perfectly calculating, immaculate and without any emotion, showing everything his heart held at the same time. "I shall not forget. Live to see this end, and I will make you as my right hand. Any less is undeserving of you."

* * *

"... Finally."

Zihark was panting next to him, fighting to gain whatever breath he'd lost in the throng of fighting, deprived of even a moment's reprieve for what had been at least four hours. Which wasn't bad, Tauroneo mused, considering the fact that the fight within the prison would have been every bit as savage as the one outside it had been. Just who had trained these guys? They were many times better than Begnion soildiers they had fought anywhere else, and there was something... almost familiar about their style, Tauroneo reluctantly admitted. The way their every move was perfectly calculated, the way their motions were made with the next two motions already planned, the way they always seemed to be far ahead of you and reading your every move perfectly... it was all too familiar.

And Tauroneo was not surprised to admit only one foe he had ever fought had such a distinction. And the worst part was, the foe in question hadn't even been one he himself fought. But the troops he commanded... they had fought with that same knowing style. There was no mistaking that similarity. But making the connection was impossible, with that hulking wall called death making the connection impossible. Indeed, the Black Knight had seen his last morn at Nados three years ago, felled by the hand of General Ike. Which meant the likelihood of the intrepid knight, for all his luck with the mistress of death, being behind the meticulous and immaculate training of these dastardly soldiers was not a likely prospect. Unless that blasted powder of his had saved him from the collapse of Nados...

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Zihark's still raspy voice intruded without warning upon Tauroneo's thoughts, knowing and only mildly surprised as it was. Sear the man for being so perfectly indifferent.

"These men were not trained by any of Begnion's agents," Tauroneo huffed, wincing as he tried to step with his right leg, realizing the extent of the damage to his leg all too late. These soldiers, trained as they were, had seemed to have no trouble realizing that the legs were Tauroneo's weak point and that they were slightly less protected than the rest of his body. This had made them a frequent target for swords, lances and axes. A few arrows as well, he recalled with fond remembrance. The small gaping holes in his legs were a relatively bitter reminder of the arrows his legs had fallen victim to, indeed. Tracking down Laura and asking her to take a look at his legs would likely be a good idea, lest he risk permanent injury to limbs he yet had much use for. He wasn't yet ready to retire to an old cottage in the wilderness, where having functionable legs was more of a luxury rather than a necessity.

"Who's to say the Black Knight wasn't an agent of Begnion all along?" Zihark asked knowingly, idly kicking aside a particularly greusome looking corpse at his feet. His eyes followed the rolling corpse with what almost seemed like the most marginal hint of sympathy, but as soon as the look had come, so had it gone. "The dastard, I imagine, wouldn't be beyond such things."

"And he wielded the sacred Alondite," Tauroneo added. He didn't bother to add that the notion of the Black Knight being an agent of Begnion was absolutely ludicrous. Perhaps because he himself couldn't completely dismiss the theory.

"He was an enigma, alright," Sothe cut in rather rudely, breaking free of a group of soldiers huddled against a wall, doing something that looked only vaguely like celebrating. "You guys had the same feeling I did?"

There was something about the way Sothe carried himself that made Tauroneo immediately turn to Zihark, eyeing the man silently and with shameless criticism for a long, drawn out few seconds. Zihark couldn't have fled faster if he had tried, muttering some sort of mixed greeting and farewell to Sothe in passing that was innevitably carried away by the wind, lost en route to the boy's ears. "You didn't come here to note that our foes are the spawn of Daein's late demon," Tauroneo said firmly, his eyes turning to meet Sothe's even as his body remained completely still. "Micaiah had you checking the unoccupied rooms for supplies, right?"

"So you know what I found," Sothe said carefully, hesitantly, holding up a parchment stained with both blood and the black ink with which it had been wrote. "Why did you not tell us?"

"Was it imperative that I did so?" Even for all of his soldier's training in being perfectly detached and emotionless when the need for such detachment came, Tauroneo had to fight with himself to keep his voice perfectly even and his face devoid of emotion. The effort was a foolish endeavor in the end, for he could tell immediately that Sothe saw the turmoil going on within the depths of his heart.

Sothe nodded solemnly instead, poorly hiding his knowledge behind a calculated look of mild admonishment, with narrowed eyes and an almost wry smile. "It would have been appreciated, yes."

"Would you have said anything?" Tauroneo shot back, feeling like a daft fool for saying anything of the sort.

Regardless, it had the desired result. Sothe's bitter expression melted into a perplexed frown, considering the question in his own mind. The wind's howling, louder than ever as it whistled it's way between gaps in stones and through the open doorway in which they stood, was the only sound for many long seconds. Even the soldiers still crowded about in their oddly timed glee seemed to silence, though that could just as easily have been due to the fact that both men were focused entirely on the other, like two Laguz watching one another critically in the midst of a heated battle. The tenseness of the situation between them seemed to agree with that thought.

At last Sothe spoke, punctuating his words with a thoughtful sigh, as if he had granted the question far more thought than he had, "If it would have helped us, I would have."

"You speak so calmly, yet you know not the true horrors of this place." Tauroneo's calm shattered around him as he stared hard at Sothe, revealing to him mentally months of torment and suffering beyond even the greatest physical torture. The raw pain that he felt simply thinking of the despairing events of times past seemed to crash into Sothe all too quickly, and he immediately looking apologetic, like he'd mistakenly transgressed upon some sort of territory that was taboo to even think of. No, giving Umono such a distinction would be far too fortunate.

"My apologies," Sothe muttered dismally, wincing as though expecting some form of retaliation the moment the words left his mouth. When he received none, why he had thought he would at all bewildering Tauroneo all the while, he pressed on, albeit reluctantly, "No man is deserving of the sort of torture this monstrocity yields. For suffering a year of it, you..." he sighed, hanging his head. "I wasn't thinking."

"You were thinking as a man of your position should," Tauroneo smiled very faintly, but it was a genuine gesture all the same. "On the eve of our victory in Melior, I was accosted."

"... What?"

"General Zelgius' arrival in the capital was for more than congratulatory purposes," Tauroneo explained, voice soft as could be, yet as emotionally imbued as it had ever been. "I, along with many other Daein soldiers that had joined by my side, were taken prisoner in secret and transfered to Umono, under the guise of a higher order from the Senate demanding security."

"How could they?!" Sothe cried. "You were their ally! Their comrade!"

"I was from Daein," Tauroneo interjected gruffly. "I was a high ranking General in Daein's army. Their logic was, 'If he is of Daein descent, surely he must have rebellious intent.' I was imprisoned to make sure I would pose them no problem later."

"I take it the Apostle knew nothing of this horror." Sothe gave Tauroneo a strange look, unreadable save for an almost accusatory glint. "... It was the Senate's work, was it not?"

"Aye, that it was," Tauroneo nodded, folding his hands together behind his back and replacing the emotionless mask over his face. "But the Apostle knew of it. In the wake of Daein's occupation, however, it's administration was immediately delegated to the Senate. She was helpless in the matter."

"And yet she suspects nothing of the horrors this country faces now?" Skepticism was all but dripping from the corners of Sothe's mouth as he spoke, clearly seething with an as of yet denied rage.

Tauroneo shook his head slowly, nodding in the general direction of where black wings could be seen in the midst of a crowd. "I believe the young sage would know of Begnion's political state better than I could hope to guess."

"Actually, I'm over here," Tormod quipped, mysteriously stepping out from behind Sothe, having foregone his dramatically large robe in favor of the tight fitting clothing that lay beneath, obnoxiously orange as they were. "Right now, Empress Sanaki is suspicious at best. I have informed her of the situation, but she needs solid evidence before she is allowed to place her own hand into the matter."

"You are taking care of everything from the shadows, aren't you?" Tauroneo laughed suddenly, having apparently abandoned the previous seriousness of the topic that had previously been at hand.

"I'm trying," Tormod grinned, shamelessly looking as arrogant as he'd always managed to be. This time, Tauroneo noticed, his arrogance was well founded. Just looking at the boy, he could tell Tormod had a strength and knowledge that belied his age by many a year. His eyes were a wellspring of knowledge, dancing with a haughty holier-than-thou arrogance that demanded respect. And respect it Tauroneo did.

"What about Sigrun?" Sothe asked suddenly, if a little impatiently. "Or Tanith? Surely they would have at least confirmed some form of suspicions..."

"The Senate is keeping a close eye on just about every ally Sanaki has," Tormod replied. "It's a shame, too. Last I saw of her, Tanith was about ready to take the fight to the Senate herself. Ah, few have the sort of temper she does."

"She is levelheaded enough to know better of such an idea, though," Tauroneo added, laughter dancing in his narrowed eyes.

"And if she wasn't," Sothe said, with what seemed to be a lifetime of eerily calm composure shattering as he laughed lightly, "Sigrun would never have stood for it anyway. She is far too loyal for Tanith's own good."

"In this case, that loyalty is a boon," Tormod sighed almost longingly, looking skyward. "How I miss those days, you know?"

"What days?" Sothe asked, looking completely certain of what the boy meant regardless.

"Tanith yelling at anything that moved, Soren killing us with his eyes, Ranulf laughing at every mishap thrown our way..." His voice trailed off momentarily while he continued to look away, remembering times past that would forever be embedded into his memory. "They were dark days, but the days with Ike's Liberation Army were some of my fondest memories."

"As I recall, Sothe was still a thief in those days," Tauroneo laughed, throwing an arm around Sothe's shoulders and fondly pulling him in against the hulking armor that covered his chest, muffling Sothe's outraged protests with his breastplate. "And if that memory serves me as well as I like to think, the dastardly sneaky fool nearly robbed me blind more times than I can count."

"Even after Ike tried to, 'Lead him down a better path.'"

Sothe pushed away from Tauroneo almost too forcefully, cheeks tinged an awful pink both from the effort of that simple action and from the embarrassment of their words. "It was... a work in progress."

"And he returned the five hundred gold I didn't know he'd stolen when the war ended," Tormod added with a laugh.

"I still wonder how you stole Nephenee's lances and sold them..." Tauroneo paused long enough to shake his head mournfully, "... and then take the money to Ike and tell him that you'd found it lying around and thought better of keeping it for yourself."

"And then when Nephenee came to Ike pointing out that she'd been shorthanded in battle, the money had then been used to buy her a few new lances." Tormod quickly found his head stuffed beneath Sothe's arm in a rather forceful headlock, though all he could do as Sothe cried out scandalized obscenities was laugh.

It was all part of a display of friendly strife that could only have existed between oddly assorted friends such as they. As Micaiah watched this new and very desireable Sothe from a distance, Muarim standing at her side similarly watching his Little One, there was no denying the motherly pride welling up in her. "That Sothe... The Sothe that can laugh and play... he looks happy."

"Perhaps it is because of Little One," Muarim commented distantly, smiling fondly at the display unfolding. "Little One is just... Little One. He is always cheerful, but happy... now he is happy."

Micaiah nodded almost out of obligation. "It has been long since I have seen Sothe smile like that. Too long, it seems."

"You love him," Muarim stated, a knowing glint in his eye that stopped Micaiah from protesting as she thought she would have.

"... I do. I've watched over him for so long, being his guardian, mother... friend. He has always tried to be more grown-up than those around him, to be stronger, to prove to everyone... to prove to me. I have long been his mother, try as he might to make me see him otherwise. Seeing him so happy, smiling so easily..."

"Watch what you say," Muarim admonished softly, without any edge to his voice. "Mothers as young as you look do not exist."

* * *

I was planning to add a little bit more that would serve as a premise for the beginning of the next chapter, but I decided, albeit belatedly, that the ending I have here was too perfect to be ignored. So there we are. This might make things a tiny bit confusing for next chapter, if only because things will have to kick off and conclude all at once, but we'll see how that goes. Knowing my luck with writing motivation, it will be some time before we have to find out.


End file.
